


my hands are shaking from holding back from you

by houseofthedragon



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Forbidden Love, Jealous!Daenerys, Jon Snow is Not a Targaryen, Jon Snow/Val - Freeform, Medium Burn, Porn With Plot, Professor Jon Snow, Seductive Daenerys, Some angst, age gap, and dany the literal opposite of that, jon is just the sweetest innocent boi in here
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-06-02 06:39:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19435984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofthedragon/pseuds/houseofthedragon
Summary: Jon Snow grew up in a strict household where values and principles were of the utmost importance. So he wonders what his father, hishonourablefather, would think of him right now if he could see the way Daenerys Targaryen was on her knees with his son's cock in her mouth, approximately ten minutes before they are supposed to be in this exact classroom as professor and student.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [danykindaforgot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/danykindaforgot/gifts).



His hands are shaking.

He did not even realise how nervous he had gotten until now. Standing in front of the aluminium door separating him from the start of his destiny. Every breath he takes is ragged and with every second that ticks by without him making the move to enter the damned classroom, his heartbeat is accelerating. Soon, it feels like his heart will rip past his bones and skin and just jump out.

He looks up. Carved on the door are the words _High Valyrian_. For something that he’s spent countless of hours perfecting in school and more of his time excelling at throughout university, he should not be this nervous to now teach it, show his love for it to a class full of young adults.

But Jon is a naturally easy-to-stress guy. Since he was a kid, he overthought every little thing. When his friends were eager to jump in the sea during outings organised by their school, he’d be the one to think ‘what if a shark attacks us?’ or darker things like ‘what if I drown? By the time they call my parents, I’ll already be dead so my mother and father will never see their son again.’ When he had his first kiss, he kept wondering if his mouth smelled bad. When he returned his last exam paper at university, he panicked thinking he forgot to write his name.

In conclusion, Jon is not good at dealing with high-tension situations.

And giving his first lecture to a class of—what, he looks down to check his schedule and almost throws up—one hundred and fifty people is perhaps the most panic-stricken he’s ever been in his entire life.

_Gods._

He’s spent a good part of last night surfing the web looking for ways to combat anxiety for his first day as a professor. He found some good advice: practising in front of a mirror, stay hydrated in case one's mouth runs dry, try not to focus too hard on the faces (he ignored the one that said to imagine everyone naked, he's not sure that applies here). But now everything he’s learned - or thought he learned - has flown right out of his head and he’s left with a bubble of nerve-wracking tingles.

“It can’t be that bad,” he tells himself – aloud – and finally takes the initiative to enter the room.

All heads turn to him, following his movements closely until he reaches the large table on which he places his bag, hoping the shakiness of his hands is only noticeable by him. He finally faces the students and, _fuck,_ there are a lot of them. He had been an assistant professor for a little over seven months at another university and it was easy to stand in front of a class when people weren’t looking directly at him. But now he’s not an assistant. He is _the_ only thing everyone is focusing on, the spotlight is shining right on him. And it’s unnerving, to say the least.

“Hi everyone,” he says, thankful that he manages not to stutter, “I’m Jon Snow. I’m sure you’ve all heard about what happened to your old professor Mr Mormont.” A wave of whispers washes over the place. Jon allows them a moment before continuing, “It’s sad that we have to meet under such circumstances but, yes, as you might’ve guessed it I will be your new High Valyrian professor.” He pauses, letting them digest that. “Any questions?”

He scans the room, eyes briefly going over each head, from blondes to brunettes, from guys to girls. He nods to himself at the silence he receives. _Good. This is not going bad at all._ Jon unwinds a bit, he feels the butterflies in his stomach sink to the pit and die. “Very well,” he says, even mustering a smile. “Shall we begin?”

△▼

Two hours later, when the bell sounds, Jon finds himself pleasantly surprised that he did not realise how quickly time had passed. That must mean he’s been enjoying himself. Which, coming here this morning, he didn’t think he would’ve been able to achieve.

The pupils were relatively quiet – perhaps out of shyness since it’s his first day – but he was delighted by the few questions he got, an act of participation that he liked, all very good observations which pushed him to believe that the people here were at least listening to him. He hopes he’s managed to make the subject seem a little less mundane than it is, though he’s assured that this class won’t be bothersome since it’s their second year. He’s more concerned about his class of freshmen scheduled for later.

As everyone starts pouring out of the hall, Jon looks up to try and familiarise himself with a few faces. There’s a guy in the front row who asked a question, another girl with red hair that he remembers actively taking notes of everything he was saying and another woman wearing glasses who was yawning multiple times. Jon nods at each of them, even mumbling a ‘see you tomorrow’ when they offer parting words. Just as he turns around to gather his things, he feels one of the students stop next to him.

“Yes?” he asks distractedly before finally turning to face the person.

_Seven hells is she beautiful._

Since he has a habit of sometimes speaking to himself, Jon is momentarily thrown by the horrifying thought that he might’ve said those words aloud. But she’s still looking at him blankly so he calms himself down, knowing he didn’t just call one of his students beautiful. That would have been not only embarrassing but wrong in every way.

But as honourable and professional Jon might be, his eyesight is also close to perfection so it’s not hard to find someone’s physical appearance…appealing. The very petite girl has hair so white and shiny that for one, it can’t be called blonde and two, it must surely be a wig. But even her peculiar hair is nothing, absolutely _nothing_ compared to her eyes.

Do people have violet eyes? Is that a thing?

Amethysts with hints of blue and green mixed in them, her eyes are captivating—distracting.

So obtrusive that they seem to have robbed him of the ability to speak. He blinks, “Yes?”

“What happened to Jorah?” She has a soft voice, deceivingly sweet.

His mind blanks instantly. “Jorah?”

“Mr Mormont.” She juts her lower lip out in a saddened way. “I’ve been absent the other day so I haven’t heard about whatever happened to him.”

“Oh. He’s been hospitalised after having gotten into an accident.”

Before the silver-haired girl can reply, a guy suddenly appears behind her. Tall, dirty blonde hair, golden eyes. He puts an arm around the girl’s shoulders, pulling her into him. “Stop annoying the new prof,” he tells her, his voice filled with humour.

Jon watches as the girl smirks, feigning an innocent look at her boyfriend – he supposes, “I was just asking about Jorah! He was my favourite.”

Jon may be oblivious to many things around him but he soon understands that her previous question was not genuine but one meant to tease him. Childish is what it is.

The man next to her gives Jon a half-sincere apologetic look. “Sorry about her,” he says, “She loves being a nuisance. But all in good fun.”

Jon gives them a tight-lipped smile, feeling the girl’s eyes on him. Fixedly. He wants to shift under the intensity of her gaze. “It’s alright,” Jon answers.

“Welcome to Aegon’s Hill by the way,” the guy continues.

Jon’s smile turns honest. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

As they walk away, the girl whose name he doesn't know turns back around, flashing him a mischievous sort of grin as she loudly declares, “Nice tie.”

Jon looks down at his normal, plain black tie and back up but she’s already gone.

A little sigh of aggravation seeps past his lips before he shakes his head. Today ended up being a good day, he won’t let something as silly as this encounter ruin his uplifted mood. 

*

Adjusting to King’s Landing was difficult in the beginning. Jon was used to the Northern winters, not the King’s Landing summers which feel like being dipped in lava. He was also much more accustomed to the quiet streets of Winterfell than the ones filled with traffic and pollution of King's Landing. He doesn’t regret the move, he knew it had to happen for the benefit of his career, but he misses home sometimes.

Today, he misses it just a bit more than usual. He’d love to tell his father about his first official teaching experience, he knows Ned would have that proud glint in his eyes – the same he had when Jon graduated university. As a substitute for not being with him, during lunch, he texts his father about his employment. Perhaps it’s strange that at twenty-eight he’s still this close with his father but to Jon it comes as second nature to still be very much involved in his family’s lives.

He’s grown up with these values. His brothers and sisters also follow the same principles. _The lone wolf dies but the pack survives,_ his father always says. After Jon’s mother’s passed away, that saying has only intensified. Ned is very protective of his children and growing up with the rules and morals he’s instilled in him has shaped Jon into the man he is today. For that, he’ll always be grateful.

“I’m sorry,” a voice says.

Jon startles for a second before he looks up from his phone, meeting the eyes of a blonde woman. “Yes?”

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “Is this place taken?” she asks, pointing at the chair beside him. “Sorry, I’m new here and I’ve noticed that you’re alone too so….”

Jon accepts the invitation easily, for he’s also craving some company. It’s beginning to feel lonely in this cafeteria, sitting at a lonely table. He moves his bag so she can sit down and she offers him a smile in return. “Yeah, it can be intimidating to speak with the old teachers, huh?”

Blue eyes flicker with understanding as she nods, her smile broadening. “Yes, very. I’m Val, by the way.”

“Jon.” They shake hands.

△▼

Somehow, he's managed to get through his first day here without tripping over himself, stammering his way through a lecture or walking into a glass door (which, yes, he's done before but that's beyond the point). And, astonishingly, managed to make a new friend. Or just an acquaintance for now. Val, the psychology professor, as young and new here as he is...with her pretty smiles and bright eyes. And the way she blushed when Jon said he was glad she came to sit next to him. In the back of his head, he can almost hear his old friend Sam say, "Gods, you're so oblivious to how women want you. You think everyone wants to be your friend when they probably just want to fuck." Jon chuckles at the memory. 

He is pulling out of the parking lot when a group of people cross the road in front of him. Even if he did not wish to, Jon wouldn't be able to _not_ recognise that mass of silver-blonde hair. She is with the guy who was also in his class and two other people. Almost as if she can hear his thoughts, her eyes accidentally find his as she is walking by. A flare of recognition appears in those lavender irises and then - a quirk of her brow. And her lips. The look is gone as soon as it came and _she_ is gone as soon as she came, breaking away from his gaze as she goes back to speaking with her friends. Jon shakes his head slightly as he begins driving.

Something about this girl just screams trouble. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've seen a few university AUs already but i'm sorry, i couldn't help myself with this idea, i just had to do something with it. i started this before season 8 and then after the disaster struck i felt very hesitant to even post this because i thought i wouldn't have it in me to finish anything jonerys related again but thankfully i was able to (for the most part) ignore canon and focus on my love for these two so here it is. please let me know your thoughts! :)
> 
> for ria aka @peacewillwin, who constantly motivates me to write in the most obnoxious ways ever and with whom i yell about season 8 almost every single day. it's quite therapeutic. i love you 💖


	2. Chapter 2

“Do you think that new High Valyrian professor is into me?”

Loras guffaws. When he doesn’t hear his best friend laugh with him at her own joke, he glances at Daenerys. “Fucking hells, you’re serious,” he concludes, shaking his head to himself.

Daenerys frowns at him. “What?” she asks defensively.

“You want to fuck that new teacher?”

“You’re acting like that's never been done before.”

Loras rolls his eyes at her. “You’re so fucking weird, Dany,” he tells her, flicking through the pages of a book he’s not even pretending to read.

Daenerys looks back down at her own work. She told herself to stop organising study sessions with her best friend because they get less work done together than they do apart. Sooner or later, they’ll stop pretending to be concentrating on learning their lessons and they’ll end up on her bed, gossiping about everything and nothing until it would be time for him to retire in his own dorm. Only then will she be able to be productive.

Daenerys mindlessly highlights a bunch of sentences she knows she’ll most likely never go over as she shrugs. “He’s really hot,” she admits, unashamed.

Ever since she saw him enter that lecture hall, he captured every last drop of her attention. His tailored suit, the white vest underneath, the fact that his clothes accentuate every dip of every muscle on his very toned body. He was a sight to behold, that pretty Northerner. She could tell from the accent. Even besides the incredible physique, Jon Snow has the most, for lack of better word—or perhaps that _is_ the best word, beautiful face she’s ever seen on a man. Pretty dark eyes, lightly trimmed beard covering the hard lines of his jaw, plump lips that would make any woman jealous and springy raven hair that Dany inappropriately wondered what would feel like to tug on as he went down on her.

It's like the gods refused to let anyone else sculpt that man and took the job upon by themselves to make sure not one imperfection could be seen on him. 

But he also seemed very shy. She could tell he was nervous when he spoke, she thought it was just because it was his first time working with them but then he turned bright red when she teased him about his tie. It looked good on him, annoyingly so, her mind drifted to other ways she could make his skin burn bright crimson. 

She’s never been one to hide her sexuality. Daenerys knows she looks good and she embraces it. Why wouldn’t she? Her mother taught her the best. Rhaella Targaryen made a name for herself in the modelling universe, she was once the youngest swimsuit models of Westeros and one of the most remarkable ones, too. Despite her old age, she still models from time to time even now because she is that much of a memorable face.

And she’s very fond of reminding Daenerys how she met her father. “He came to one of my shoots when he was on a business trip,” Rhaella would say, eyes shining proudly, “And the moment he saw me, he said—”

“—That he’d never be able to spend the rest of his life with another woman,” Daenerys would finish unenthusiastically, rolling her eyes. “Yes, I know.”

Seductiveness is part of her nature and using it to her advantage worked pretty damned well through high school. She managed to date most of the boys she’s ever had a crush on in her teenage years, although she regretted most of them.

Now she has set her eyes on Jon Snow. Seized him up. Perhaps he’s just another pretty face but there’s something about their position that excites her. He does not seem like the type of person to sleep with his students judging by how he could barely gaze at her for more than twenty seconds before looking away, and that challenging aspect ignites the fire in her blood. Wakes the dragon in her.

“He _is_ hot,” Loras says. “But not my type. I don’t like hairy men.”

“Yeah, that’s why you cheated on your first boyfriend with his bald father,” she deadpans.

A gasp escapes his lips. “Stop bringing that up!” he whines, grabbing one of her pillows and throwing it at her face.

Dany ducks in time only for it to land against the wooden door. Which, then, swings open. Margaery – Loras’ sister – steps inside, giving both of them a weird look before bending down to retrieve the assaulted feather pillow. “Were you trying to aim for me?” she asks her brother, hurling it back at him.

“If I knew you’d be coming in I’d throw something harder," retorts her brother.

Margaery mimics his voice exaggeratedly, rolling her eyes at Loras. She turns to Dany, curly hair bouncing on her shoulders as she stares at her friend quizzically.

Daenerys widens her eyes in question, shaking her head at her. “What?”

“What do you mean _what_? Have you two forgotten that we’re supposed to be celebrating the opening today?” Margaery asks, voice full of offence.

While Dany and Loras are both attending university, Margaery had decided that pursuing her studies was just not for her when she finished school. At the same time that her brother and Daenerys were making it through their first year of university, Marge worked her arse off to open a hair salon. It was tough but Margaery has never been one to accept defeat easily, her will to go on much more tenacious than the – mostly financial – obstacles which presented themselves on her path. Daenerys even offered her help with the start-up cost more than once but her best friend continuously refused, assuring her that she wished to do this on her own and that it’d be more rewarding as such.

Now, almost a year and a half later, she has finally succeeded in making her dream come true, opening her very own hair salon in King’s Landing. She does have significant competition in town since King’s Landing is a huge place but Daenerys has no doubts about Margaery managing to triumph. If there is one person she admires the most in terms of courage and perseverance, it has to be Marge.

Daenerys and Loras exchange guilty looks. “You know how busy we’ve been,” Daenerys says, displaying an apologetic smile to her friend. “We have to get so much done for tomorrow’s classes.”

Marge rolls her eyes. “Yeah. _Sure_. As if you two even get anything done in here together.”

Dany has to laugh at that. “You’re right, we don’t. Which reminds me your brother’s officially banned from my dorm room until I get work done now,” she professes, to which the boy lying on her bed huffs.

“Do you know what Daenerys wants to do?” Loras asks his sister, ignoring Dany. She shakes her head negatively. “Fuck our new professor,” he deadpans.

Daenerys curses him loudly.

“What?” Margaery’s voice is high-pitched. “Where does that come from now? What new professor?”

“He teaches High Valyrian,” Daenerys replies. And she fails to mention that the way he speaks that foreign language in that thick Northern purr of his is all types of sexy. Daenerys is pretty sure she missed half of the important stuff he was talking about during their first lecture because she was focusing on his plump mouth forming those delicious words. It’s such a shame that she sits in one of the last rows, she would gladly sit right in the front row—where all the smart people are—just so she can get a better view of Jon Snow and his gorgeous mouth. “He’s replacing Jorah Mormont.”

“Wasn’t that the guy who used to hit on you?” Marge asks, quirking a brow in amusement.

Daenerys scrunches up her nose. “Yeah.” The old man was creepy and would not even hide the way he stared at her back and legs when she walked out of class. Now, funnily enough, she wishes Jon Snow would do the same. She knows disgust would be the farthest thing on her mind if she could feel his eyes rake down her body.

“Tell her it’s a bad idea to sleep with her teacher,” suggests Loras.

“It’s a bad idea to sleep with your teacher,” agrees Margaery before a wicked smile spreads across her lips. “But it’s hot.”

Daenerys chuckles, shaking her head. “Your brother’s just being an idiot. Yes, he’s really attractive but he seems so stuck-up. There’s no way anything is happening between us.” _Unfortunately._ “And besides, this is not what you came here for. I think it’s time to celebrate.”

△▼

His apartment feels cold when he steps in.

Not because of the weather, no, King’s Landing is far warmer than Winterfell but this place never feels like home. Jon thought that with time, it eventually would, that the four walls would start to feel like a warm blanket of safety…but no.

It’s still icy. The warmth of his old house cannot be found here, no matter how many things he buys to fill this place with. A huge TV set, set of matching black sofas, grey cupboards similar to the furniture he has back home. A bookshelf with hundreds of books, just because he thought the smell of it could remind him of his father's library at home. He keeps adding new things to this place, believing that at some point it’ll all finally click and feel like his house but it never does.

Jon sighs to himself as he drops his keys in the bowl placed on a shelf next to his door. He bought this apartment because it’s close to the university campus, only a five-minute drive away. He’s been living here for a little over two months now, to settle in, but every time he walks past this door he still feels weirdly empty and unattached to this place. Every time it feels like he’s walking into somebody else’s place where he’ll sleep and eat then leave for work. Rinse and repeat.

After a shower, he makes himself some lunch, settling for scrambled eggs and a glass of orange juice before he brings out his laptop to prepare his slides for tomorrow’s classes. Jon is completely drowned in the task at hand when his phone chirps, his brother’s face popping up on the screen.

His family has set a schedule to speak on video chat. Every Saturday at nine pm. It's the only time everyone is free simultaneously. Sansa is a dentist, living with her fiancé and their two dogs in a quiet house in Winterfell. Robb, Jon’s older brother, works as a dermatologist, also residing in Winterfell, with his father—who’s a vet—and youngest sister Arya, who’s still in school. Jon is the only one who drifted away from the medical profession so deeply rooted in his family but everyone was supportive of his decision even if he sometimes feels like he was breaking some sort of sacred familial tradition.

He’s also the only one who moved South.

“Northmen don’t fare well in the South,” Sansa told him when she hugged him at the airport, tears collecting in her eyes. “Come back to us, brother.”

“I have to do what’s best for my career,” Jon insisted. He wasn’t keen to leave them either but King’s Landing has always had the best reputation for linguistics studies while Winterfell barely has any of the classes Jon wished to take when he finished school.

Presently, he’s confused by Robb’s incoming phone call because they usually always stick to the schedule—as they stick to most rules in their lives.

Still, Jon swipes his thumb across the screen to answer it. “Hello?”

“Hey,” Robb answers, voice so cheery that it immediately makes Jon smile warmly.

“Couldn’t wait until Saturday?” Jon teases.

“Not for this, no.”

“For _this_?”

“Jon,” his brother breathes, “I’m getting engaged.”

Words fail him for a moment, for this was not the conversation he expected to have with his brother at four pm in the afternoon on a Tuesday. The wheels in his mind finally manage to spin and form coherent words. Jon lets out a sound that is a mix between a laugh and a gasp. “Really?” he asks. “Wow. I—congratulations, Robb.”

“Thank you, man. I’m so happy.”

“I’m so glad for you. And Talisa, of course, I always knew you two were made for each other.”

And Jon did know. They met in medical school and Talisa is - as far Jon can recall from their two or three meetings - a very sweet and caring woman. Above all, Ned highly approved of the match just as he’d previously gave all of his blessings to Sansa and her husband, Theon.

“I wish you were here, Jon,” Robb says into the phone, his deep sigh regretful. “We all miss you. Sansa’s coming over tonight, we’re having a little reunion at Dad’s. But it’ll suck without you.”

Jon gnaws on his bottom lip, his heart feeling a bit crushed at his words. “Don’t say that. I already miss you guys enough.”

“We know. Can’t wait for this semester to end so you can come visit.”

Jon laughs. “It’s begun today, it’s not ending anytime soon,” he informs him disappointingly.

Robb grunts. “This sucks. But you’ll manage to drop by for the engagement party, right?”

Jon takes a glance at the calendar on his desk, notices how most of the dates are encircled or highlighted, meaning he’s got stuff to do almost every other day this month. Still, he can’t bring himself to say no to his brother that he adores, not when the tone of his voice is so hopeful. “Of course I’ll come. Just text me the date.”

“Awesome.” Robb sounds relieved. “Wait, uh, Dad wanna speak with you.”

“Robb, I’m kinda busy, can he—”

“Jon!”

Jon cuts himself off at the sound of Ned’s loud voice booming in his ears. He smiles despite himself. “Dad,” he greets, “How’re you doin’?”

“I just received your text about your first day. Glad you like it there, son, I always knew you’d make it.”

“Thank you. Yeah, I love it here.” The words he speaks are only half-true but he doesn’t need to tell him that. “How are you? And Arya?”

“I’m good. And Arya is doing great, she just misses you a lot. And can you believe she came _second_ in her class?” You’d think that's something to be happy about but Ned is not someone who aims for second places, anyone who isn’t at the top is a loser to him.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Jon says in jest and, partly, in truth too. Arya is only thirteen, he doesn’t think a child her age should be stressed out too much.

“So, about Robb,” Ned hums, “We’ve all seen that coming, right?”

“Right. It was just a matter of time.”

After a noise of agreement and a mini pause, his father slowly says, “Well now that Robb is practically married, I have you to worry about.”

Jon’s smile starts melting away.

Ned is a very traditional man, as anyone can tell. He told Jon that he _needs_ to see all of his children married before he passes away. Sansa’s done, now Robb is on the way and then…it’ll be his turn.

Jon sniggers awkwardly. “I’m not seeing anyone,” he admits.

“There are plenty of Northern ladies who wish to marry you, Jon, I’ve told you that.”

He licks his lips thoughtfully. “Yeah but I’d really rather focus on my job right now.”

“Sure, son, all I’m saying is you’re nearing thirty. It’s time to settle down once and for all and I know you’ll bring home a beautiful woman like your brother has.”

Even when their conversation ends, Jon’s initial good mood has been significantly tainted by Ned’s words and his persistence for Jon to find someone to marry. His last girlfriend left a bitter taste in his mouth. Ygritte, her name was, and she had hair like fire. But when he had to move away, their breakup was an ugly, loud mess that left Jon with a broken heart and several days worth of headaches.

He’s briefly seen a pretty girl called Arianne since his arrival to King’s Landing but after three dates and awkward pauses in their discussions that they didn’t seem to be able to fill, they knew it wasn’t working between them. The agreement to discontinue the new relationship was mutual.

The thing is Jon isn’t _actively_ looking for a girlfriend. It’s not a priority of his. His new job is a priority. And if he happens to meet a girl that he likes and can build something serious with then that will only be a plus. But his father doesn’t see it like that. A career isn’t the only thing that matters for Ned, he wants the whole package: a good job, a good spouse and then a family. And he wants that for _all_ of his children as if this is a template they were born with and are required to fill no matter what.

Jon shuts down his laptop, finding that he’s grown too tired to continue working. His back muscles are aching from sitting upright for so long and his eyes are sore from staring at the screen.

He looks around his apartment, the eerie silence save for the traffic outside all too irksome. His eyes land on his car keys, a lightbulb flicking on in his head.

He needs a distraction this evening.

△▼

Jon was not planning to somehow end up in a night club but on his way out, he spotted a bunch of people pouring into that tall building a few blocks away from his apartment complex—the word ‘Dragonpit’ embedded on top of the entrance in big, shiny golden letters that are flickering—and he remembers that he hasn’t had a drink in so long and, even more pitifully, hasn’t been to a club in months now, the state of his life too stressful and busy for him to make time for such silly activities. He puts his keys back into his coat, decidedly heading for the club. He just needs a change of space, something other than the quietness of his lonely apartment.

And quietness is nowhere to be found when he steps in, immediately being thrown in an ocean of sounds, lights and _bodies._ The music is so loud he feels his chest vibrate with every beat and the ground beneath his feet feels like it’ll crumble down under the pressure at any moment. People are dancing and grinding and screaming, the culmination so vehement that he considers just turning on his heel for a second. But before he knows it he’s being pushed in deeper by a swarm of bodies entering the club and he has no choice but to slither his way through the crowd, aiming for the bar he can spot from afar.

He manages to reach it at last and it feels like being thrown on the shore after thinking you were drowning. A breath escapes Jon, his mouth twisting at the smell of liquor, smoke and sweat. Gods only know why he thought this would be his element.

“Hey. What can I get you?”

Jon looks up to meet the eyes of a black-haired man, an eyebrow raised in question. He clears his throat, straightening the lapels of his black coat as he sits on a stool and rests his arm on the marble-tiled countertop, eyes darting from one bottle to the other behind the bartender. Truth be told, he can’t recognise shit.

The guy gives him a little, almost knowing smile. “You’ve never really been here, have you?”

“No,” Jon answers sheepishly.

“I’m Gendry,” he says, extending his arm.

Jon shakes it. “Jon.”

“Well, Jon, things do get crazy in here so I get it that you’re overwhelmed. As for the drink, will you trust me on this one? I think I know exactly what you need.”

Jon laughs doubtfully. “Sure. Even if you've known me for less than two minutes,” he answers with a shrug.

“Yeah but you just seem like a very stressed guy, you know?” Gendry says as he takes out three bottles using only one hand and then fetches a glass from below the table. “Like you just need a little distraction for the night.”

Jon hums. “You’re good at this.”

Gendry looks up at him, smirking. “Nah, I’m just playing. I say that shit to every new bloke in here. Whenever a new person comes in, it’s either to let out some tension or to look for someone to fuck. Or both.”

“Well, I’ve only come here for the stress part.”

“A shame, a bunch of ladies are staring at you.” They both chuckle at that.

Jon watches quietly as he begins mixing two of the drinks together, creating a crimson coloured liquid. “Is that strong?” he asks, because he's not particularly into drinking himself to oblivion and then waking up with enough pain to kill. Especially when he has to work tomorrow.

“Not that bad, I swear.” Jon doesn’t know if he should trust this man at all but he does, anyway. “So, you’re from Aegon’s Hill?”

“How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess. Ninety percent of our clientele is from that university.”

Jon nods and then rapidly shakes his head. “Uh, no, I don’t go there. I’m a professor.”

Surprised eyes find his. “Oh? You’re younger than I expected.”

Jon smiles. “It’s my first semester.”

“Run while you can,” Gendry singsongs. “These people are crazy. Are you looking at them?”

Jon takes a look behind him, eyes glued to a girl lying on the dirty, moist floor as her friend is pouring a drink in her mouth from above, everyone laughing around them and then there’s literally a boy jumping from one of the couches in the back of the club to try and grasp the freaking chandelier. Jon grimaces and returns to the man behind the bar. “Yeah, well, they might as well enjoy their last years of fun.”

“That sounds depressing,” Gendry snorts, shaking the mixture he’s making. “What do you teach?”

“High Valyrian.”

“The fuck’s that?”

“A language,” Jon answers, amused. “It’s quite interesting, really. We get to explore the history behind it. And it’s still a very common language spoken in Essos and Pentos and—”

“That’s the nerdiest conversation I’ve ever had in this bar,” Gendry interrupts and drops a dollop of salt on top of his now brownish drink, sliding it over to Jon. “Go ahead.” He raises both eyebrows, the grin on his face encouraging.

Jon hesitantly takes the glass, swirling the contents before bringing it to his mouth. It smells awful. He tilts it back and drinks. The tastes _burns._ It’s the only word Jon can find because he just was not ready for the explosion of flavours in his mouth, each more intense than the last. He swallows with difficulty and it feels like a dragon is burning its way down his throat. Jon places the glass on the table after just one sip, tears forming in his eyes as he loudly coughs.

In front of him, Gendry bursts out in loud fits of laughter.

Before Jon can yell at him or ask what in the seven burning hells that was, a sweet, enticing voice says, “Careful, Gendry. You don’t want to kill my teacher before we can even get to our second class together.”

Jon turns his head to find the source and his breath unwittingly gets caught up in his throat at the sight of the silver-haired, violet-eyed girl from one of his classes. 


	3. Chapter 3

Daenerys doesn’t notice Jon Snow right away.

She was dancing before that. Lost in the music, her eyes were shut as she let her hips sway instinctively to the tunes, occasional giggles slipping past her lips when she peeked at Loras making some weird dance move. The drink in her hand was finished, half of it down her throat and the other half had spilt out while she was moving but she could not bring herself to pay attention to that, not when she was having so much fun.

Margaery was in front of her at some point, her hands in her hair as she twirled on herself, Daenerys laughing as she grabbed her friend’s hand to pull her closer in an exaggerated manner. As the two girls were messing around in their small corner, not minding the other groups of people around them, Daenerys opened her eyes and behind Margaery’s curly hair, she thought she saw a familiar face. She was very drunk and her vision was blurred not just from the alcohol but the blinding lights as well so she brushed it off.

It isn't until Loras leans into her ear and says, “Isn’t that the new professor you’re into?” that she finally realises she wasn’t mistaken.

Right away, Daenerys stops moving and lifts herself on her toes, squinting her eyes until she can make out his silhouette. It must be him. The curly hair matches, held back by a leather band and his dress shirt is fitted nicely against his body. She can only see his back but then he’s turning around, glancing at the people around him and Dany can finally see his side profile, confirming her doubts and her friend’s words. “It’s him,” she says, both to herself and Loras.

“What are you two talking about?” yells Margaery over the music.

Her brother smirks. “That’s the guy Daenerys totally wants to bone.”

Dany would gladly throw her drink at him if she had any drink left. Margaery takes a long look at him before turning back to her silver-haired friend, raising both of her eyebrows. “Well?”

Daenerys gives her an incredulous look. “Well, what?”

“Are you gonna do something about it?” Margaery shouts in her ear.

Dany shakes her head. “That’s just crazy,” she replies.

Her friend gives her a sly smirk but lets it pass, instead, pulling her deeper into the dance floor where a bunch of people they know from university are dancing. Immediately, they mend into the crowd, sweaty bodies gliding and pressing into each other as they rock to the beats blasting through the speakers.

This wasn’t their initial plan to celebrate Margaery’s new job but it was impossible to resist the temptation when they passed by. She doesn’t regret it now, not when adrenaline is making her blood pound to the music playing and her throat is hurting from screaming the lyrics to every song that comes on. 

Daenerys could stay here forever. Except for the fact that her drink’s over. She pouts at the empty glass and stops dancing, informing Margaery and Loras that she needs a refill.

She is breathing heavily as she pushes people left and right, tracing a path to the bar. Only then does she remember who she saw there. A new type of adrenaline rushes through her veins as she inches closer to the dark-haired man sitting at the bar, smiling and conversing with the familiar bartender. Anticipation flows to the tips of her fingers.

She tells herself that it’s not like she’s going there deliberately to torment him but while she’s already there, she might as well try to ruffle his feathers. Just a bit. Daenerys doesn’t even feel bad for the wicked part of her brain that is chanting for her to do it.

She reaches him just in time as he loudly coughs at something Gendry just made him drink, while the man behind the bar laughs at his reaction. Even with his face contorted in disgust, Jon is still one of the sexiest men she’s ever seen.

Licking her lips, she slides on a stool in the empty spot next to him and leans on the counter innocently. She swallows, putting on the sweetest voice she can to say, “Careful, Gendry. You don’t want to kill my teacher before we can even get to our second class together.”

Both men turn to look at her. But Dany doesn’t care for Gendry’s eyes, only Jon’s dark ones. They widen the slightest at the sight of her and she can’t help the thrill of satisfaction to _at least_ get somewhat of a reaction out of this man. He is even more handsome up close, his shadowy face mysterious and basked in the yellow and red decorative lights shining everywhere.

She hopes she isn’t mistaken when she sees the very quick way his eyes scan her. Daenerys didn’t know he’d be here, obviously, but even if she did she would wear exactly what she is wearing right now because she knows this low-cut, tight red cocktail dress with matching heels and bright red lipstick to accentuate it all is just the way to go to drive men mad. She’s curled her hair, letting it tumble down her back and in front of her shoulders. While all the dancing must’ve certainly mussed her up a bit, she knows she looks good tonight.

It’d feel even better to have some sort of confirmation from him but Daenerys can barely even be certain he checked her out or if that was her hopeful, drunken imagination. Because the next moment his eyes are fleeing from hers, mouth opening and closing to try and come up with an answer.

Gendry beats him to it. “I’m just warming him up, you know how it goes.”

Daenerys cracks a smile, never looking away from Jon. “You should never trust Gendry,” she tells him, “He does this to every newbie. Gives them something horrible to drink after he lulls them into a fake sense of trust.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to think I’ve made a big mistake,” Jon answers in that deep voice of his. This is probably the most words he’s spoken to her ever, albeit still not looking at her, choosing to swirl his drink.

Gendry chuckles at the interaction. “So you work with her?” he asks Jon.

Daenerys hides her smirk as she looks at Jon, waiting for him to reply. He clears his throat. “Yes. She’s one of my students, I believe,” he says.

Daenerys almost rolls her eyes at the ‘I believe’ as if he doesn’t remember her. She is certain that she's made an impression on him. At least, she tried to. She places her empty glass on the counter.

“A refill of your usual, my Queen?” Her friend, Gendry, asks, a knowing smile on his face.

“As always,” she replies sweetly.

The moment Gendry moves away from them to prepare her drink, Dany knows this is her last chance to strive some sort of a memorable conversation with this intriguing, pretty man who won’t bloody look into her eyes.

“Do you like it here in King’s Landing, sir?” Daenerys asks, the last word sounding funny coming from her mouth but she had to at the very least act respectful. He’s still her professor. Her very, unfairly sexy professor.

Jon shifts in his seat, finally gazing up at her. His eyes seem to change from grey to black and grey again every now and then. “I’ve been in King’s Landing for a while now,” he answers, “I’m only new to this part of the town.”

Daenerys nods. “And you like it?”

“Sure, it’s great.”

Her lips tilt. “Do you come here often? I’ve never seen you before.” Dany knows the reputation of this place better than most. Is this what Jon Snow’s into, crazy night clubs filled with even crazier women? Does he do this often, she wonders, sit at a bar broodily to pick a girl up and head home? She wants to know more, wants to know if there’s a way to get under his skin the way she wants to.

Jon Snow is an irresistible scratch that she needs to get rid of.

His answer comes immediately. “No. I’ve never been here before.”

That doesn’t surprise her if she is to be honest. Out of everyone in this place, only one person looks like he does not belong here. Daenerys gives him a smile. “Perhaps you’ll be back after tonight.”

“Yeah, no, I don’t think so.” His face twists in a grimace, “This place’s a mess.”

“Oh? Perhaps it’s just the people who are messy.”

Jon shakes his head lightly. “Perhaps. But I still think it could use better management. And the music’s just bad, plus everything reeks.”

Daenerys’ smile broadens. “Oh,” she repeats carefully.

Gendry is back before they can speak any more words to each other. “There you go,” he says as he hands her the now full glass.

Dany nods in thanks and lets her eyes linger on Jon for a few more seconds before she inevitably has to leave. Daenerys purposely steps closer to him as she leaves, his strong cologne infiltrating her nostrils unbiddenly. “Have a good night, Mr Snow,” she tells him, letting her eyes glide over the slight darkening of his cheeks and the parting smile he offers.

△▼

When she leaves, Jon can finally breathe again.

From the moment the girl with hair like the moon and the sun had a love child on top of her head sat down across him, Jon’s lungs had forgotten what their purpose was. He found it hard—no, _impossible_ —to inhale and exhale properly when his eyes inadvertently caught on the way her blood-red dress clung to the swells of her breasts, or that little mole she has on her knee that was crossed over her other leg.

Two very inappropriate things for him to notice about a _student._ He knew that, of course, but it was too late to get rid of those images. Too late to pretend he didn’t also notice how her lipstick had smeared a bit on her cheek, her mussy state somehow only gloriously accentuating her beauty.

He didn’t want to talk to her because, _fuck_ , why was he speaking to one of his pupils whose name he didn’t even know? And why did it feel so inappropriate even if they were _just_ talking? All that he knew was that she was insanely beautiful and that should be the farthest thing on his mind. If she was just another girl in this club then it could have been alright but not under those circumstances.

So when she finally leaves, taking away her sweet voice, sultry smiles and those _damned_ hypnotising eyes, Jon feels at ease again, a heavy weight combusting to nothing on top of his chest.

“Can’t believe Daenerys is one of your students. Now I feel bad for you.”

 _Daenerys._ Of course, her name has to be as intricately gorgeous as she is. “She’s a bit of a talker, aye?” Jon asks because she does seem to enjoy talking a lot even if they don’t know each other—and shouldn’t, anyway.

Gendry slides him a glass of water to clear the disgusting taste of whatever he just made for him earlier as he hums in approval. “She’s a wild one, that girl. But you wouldn’t think she’s the daughter of a millionaire.”

Jon’s eyes bulge. “What?”

Gendry quirks a brow. “Daenerys…Targaryen.”

Jon blinks.

“Really? _Targaryen_ doesn’t ring any bell for you?”

“None.”

“Gods, you’re really new here.” Gendry huffs a shocked laugh. “She’s Aerys’ daughter. This man shits money. He owns casinos, hotels, clubs. He owns this place.”

Now Jon splutters on the water he’s drinking. “He owns this place?”

“Yeah,” Gendry answers, chortling. “That’s why I jokingly call her my queen.”

Well, great. He just told the daughter of the owner that this place is a mess and that it reeks. He feels like an idiot.

“Oh,” he mutters dumbly.

“She’s a great girl, though. I was intimidated to even speak to her when I first got this job but she’s not your stereotypical rich girl. She’s just crazy, I think.” Gendry seems to be very fond of Daenerys. “Anyway, how about I get you something _good_ to drink this time?”

Jon narrows his eyes at him. “For real?”

Gendry raises his arms in mock surrender. “I swear.”

“Fine.”

Jon tells himself that he’s only looking at the crowd with no particular target in mind while Gendry prepares his drink. He tells himself that he’s absolutely _not_ searching for a head of silver hair, that he isn’t drawn to her like a moth to a flame. But when his eyes spot her, the pretences crash and burn. His gaze lingers on her, despite his repeated attempts to look away.

She’s just so enticing. The way she is moving to the upbeat song, her hips gracefully notching to every change of beats. Daenerys is sin personified. If desire and lust could be bottled up in human form, it would be her—right then and there, in her tight dress, her moonlit hair whipping in the air as she dances freely, eyes tightly shut, hot red mouth parted, her hands gliding over her form in the most sensual of ways.

Jon feels warmth form a ball in his guts, the feeling _so_ wrong it makes his head spin. He should look away. He should remind himself of all the reasons why he isn’t supposed to be ogling at a twenty-something girl in a club, especially when this girl will be sitting in one of his classes tomorrow.

He should do a lot of things, really, but all he does is stare at her.

A man is dancing with her and he can recognise him as the guy who was next to her when they first met. Her eyes drift open when he pulls her to his body and Jon can almost hear her laugh as she presses herself against him, grinding playfully into the boy who is laughing with her and twirling her around.

_Look away._

She wraps her arms around her friend’s—or boyfriend’s—neck and his own fall to her waist. Jon wonders if the fabric of that dress is as soft as it looks and if it’d feel silky to the touch. If it would be easy to take off.

_Look away._

Daenerys takes a gulp of the drink she just came to refill and he watches, transfixed, as her throat bobs when she swallows. He feels hot under his collar. He wonders what the pale skin of her throat would taste like if he is to run his tongue over it.

_Look away._

The boy is leaning down to whisper something in her ear and Daenerys’ brows furrow until—

Jon freezes when bright violet eyes bore directly into his, her movements faltering. Now would be a great time to listen to his fucking mind and look away but it’s suddenly too hard to do anything but lose himself in her amethyst depths. And it’s too late, she can already tell he’s been looking at her. Embarrassment and a disgusting sort of dread crawl up under his skin like insects, almost choking him.

She must think he’s a weirdo, to be looking at her like this when they’re a professor and a student. She must think it’s disgusting.

But then a slow, suggestive smile is spreading across her mouth and Jon feels his heart jump in his chest at the decidedly seductive look she gives him, the heat of it so scorching he can feel it from this far, pulling him in, wanting to engulf and destroy him.

“Jon.”

It feels like a spell is broken. Like he was flying and someone abruptly cut his wings and he plummeted to the hard, cold ground. That’s what Gendry’s voice feels like. He turns to him, blinking numbly.

Gendry looks worried. “You sure you okay, bud? Did my drink mess you up that badly?”

_If only. I think I’m messed up for entirely different reasons, ones that I’m not proud of._

*

Daenerys cannot for the life of her focus on what Jon Snow is saying.

All she can think of is the way he watched her last night. He’s an oblivious man, this professor of hers, either that or he did not care for the women openly staring wantonly at him at the Dragonpit, all of them looking like beasts hungry for a piece of him 

And after she left him at the bar, she had half a mind to look back at him but disappointment at the thought of finding him with another girl filled her so she ignored her instincts, instead choosing to dance with her best friends and forget all about this man.

She accepted it, then, that he was off-limits. Her sultry looks and flirty smiles fell flat with him. Hells, he couldn’t even look her in the eyes for more than a few seconds.

And instead of flirting back, he insulted her father’s club so there was… _that_. Jon Snow was not a one-night man and sadly, that was what she wanted him to be. A fun ride. But she knew he wouldn’t take the leap, no matter how much she wished he would.

That was what she believed, anyway, until Loras pulled her into him and whispered something interesting in her ear. “Maybe you’re not that crazy, after all. He won’t stop looking at you.”

She didn’t care for subtlety, the need to confirm what her friend said overpowering logic. And when she looked up, her breath hitched in her throat, mouth ran dry. He looked like he wanted to eat her whole. A pulse grew between her legs as she danced, holding his eyes, smiling knowingly.

And now she’s here, sitting in the back of the lecture hall, trying her best to take notes and follow what he’s saying but all she can think about is the way Jon Snow gazed at her.

He desires her too.

That much is obvious.

Daenerys bites down on the cap of her ball pen, eyes fixed on the curly-haired man as he paces the length of the room, speaking to them. Never once looking at her. “I believe last year you must’ve learned about the eight cases of nouns in High Valyrian. We’re going to go through the norminative and accusative classes this week and the next six over the course of the following weeks.”

Her eyes are intently following his every move. He’s very expressive when he teaches, using his hands – he has really nice hands, by the way, they look rough and big, needless to say, she’s tried to imagine how they’d feel on her body – to accentuate on key ideas and his voice rises to emphasise on certain words. Daenerys could watch him the whole day because he’s so pretty.

The person next to her nudges her arm and Dany turns to glare at the intruder, none other than Loras himself. His golden eyes hold hers mirthfully. “You could at least pretend to be listening,” he hisses at her.

“I am,” she argues.

“You’re undressing him with your eyes, maybe, but not listening to the lecture.”

She rolls her eyes at him.

She wasn’t doing _that_.

But now that he mentioned it....

She bets Jon Snow has a nice ass. It strains against his pants when he walks so that doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

When the bell rings, it’s both a torture and a relief. Torture that she doesn’t get to observe this beautiful man anymore and relief because, well, she doesn’t have to observe this beautiful man that she has almost no chance of having anymore.

Daenerys gathers her things and follows Loras out of the class. Until a throat is cleared. She looks up, surprised to find Jon’s eyes trained on hers. “Miss Targaryen?” A shiver runs down her spine at the use of her name. “May I speak with you?”

She glances back at Loras who just gives her a confused expression – although his eyes glint in a mischievous manner – before he leaves them, along with the other students. When the door shuts with a thud behind the last person, Daenerys realises that she’s alone with Jon Snow. For the first time. She shouldn’t get this carried away by the idea, her heartbeat should not be stuttering like it is.

“Yes, sir?” she asks, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

He swallows, blinking. “I would like to apologise for yesterday.”

Daenerys blinks. Stupefied. “Um, you have nothing to apologise for.”

“No. It was rude and inappropriate of me to do that,” he continues, looking away from her, hands stuffed in the pockets of his black trousers.

The sombre timbre of his voice causes her heart to beat unsteadily. Instead of calculating her next words carefully, she throws caution to the wind and says, “I liked it.”

His eyes snap back to hers. Grey burning into violet. The skin between his brows pinches together as he stares at her, the beats of silence too long to be comfortable. Daenerys’ fingers are tingling with anticipation, her want for _him_ maddening. But all he replies, in a very confused voice, is, “You liked when I insulted your father’s club?”

Daenerys’ face falls. “What?”

“Gendry told me you were the daughter of someone called Aerys. And that he owns that place. I did not know and I apologise if I’ve offended you about the things I said.”

She cannot stop herself from chuckling in utter disbelief. “You think I was offended by what you said about the Dragonpit?”

Jon’s head cocks sideways in misunderstanding. “What did you believe I was apologising for, then?”

Daenerys examines him silently. Licking her lips, she says, “For what happened after.”

He can lie to her and perhaps to himself all he wants but she sees the flare of recognition in those midnight eyes. He shifts on one foot to the other, collecting his wits. She unnerves him, she realises. She has the same effect on him as he does on her. The thought is thrilling, especially now that they are here alone, a place where _this_ is very dangerous. “I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, Miss Targaryen.”

She nods slowly. “You don’t?” she repeats slyly. His eyes run from hers like a thief hiding from a cop. “Perhaps it was all my imagination then.” _Sure_ , she thinks sarcastically to herself, _it was all my imagination how you looked at me like you were a wolf and I was your last prey._

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. If he wasn’t such a stubborn man determined to deny their mutual attraction, she could be putting her mouth on it right now. On all of him. “I still don’t know what you’re speaking of,” he says hurriedly, the lie so obvious it’s comical. “And I’ve said what I had to. So you may leave now. Thank you.” His voice is tight. 

Jon turns his back to her, putting his laptop back in his bag. Daenerys leaves in a huff.

It would’ve been simple if he truly did not desire her. But she knows what she saw. And he knows it too, no matter how hard he tries to deny it.

She’ll bring it out of him one way or the other, for Daenerys loves nothing more than a good challenge.

△▼

“…And it was just great and frightening at the same time, you know?”

Jon hums in approval as Val goes on to talk about that one time she went skydiving. The blonde woman has grown very close to Jon over the course of the past few days. It’s easy to find a friend in Val since she’s so nice, has a bubbly personality and is just lovely all around.

And she’s very pretty. Not as pretty as—

Jon internally groans at the unbidden path his trail of thoughts diverges to. It’s beyond his comprehension why he can’t get _her_ out of his head. The harder he tries, the harder he fails.

It also doesn’t help that their conversation last week has left him completely befuddled. He thought he might’ve offended her by what he said about her father’s club but Daenerys was speaking about something else entirely, that spark in her eyes dangerous.

He knew what she was talking about, of course. The fact that she’d caught him openly checking her out while she was dancing, the act so indecent and wrong that it made Jon feel sick for the remaining of the night.

If only Daenerys had voiced out her disgust or _anything,_ really, it would have been easier telling himself that he was absolutely wrong for thinking of her in such inappropriate ways but in that classroom, a few days ago, she only gave him a sultry smile and a look that promised delicious torture.

And she is torturous, that woman. He doesn’t know if she does it intentionally but Jon can barely think straight whenever he looks at her in class. She’s always biting on something—whether it be one of her pens or her fucking _lip,_ and she has this dazed look in her violet eyes when she gazes at him. As a teacher, he should be annoyed that she doesn’t seem to be focused on what he’s saying but as a man consumed by this dark, horribly unholy desire for her, he only wonders what she’s thinking of when she looks at him like this.

From the moment he began noticing these very distracting things about her, he stopped looking at Daenerys altogether in class.

But she didn’t make it any easier. No, of course whenever she leaves the room or the lecture hall, she will look him right in the eyes – as if she can see all of the things he’s thinking about – and gives him that wicked, slow smile that he absolutely despises. And whenever they cross paths in the hallways, her eyes are always trained on him, no matter what she’s doing or with whom she’s speaking.

Daenerys’ eyes might be his biggest weakness, as pathetic as that sounds.

“Are you listening to me, Jon?”

He looks up at the soft voice, meeting Val’s curious blue eyes. Shaking his head from these repulsive thoughts, he replies, “Yeah. Sorry. Just lost myself a bit.”

“I get it, I’ve been stressed out too,” Val answers with a sigh. “The other profs told me it gets easier with time.”

Jon nods carefully. _If only I was speaking of stress as a professor._ “I hope it does,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, I have to be at the office to fill out some forms.”

“Good luck. I’ve been there yesterday and it took forever,” she tells him with a sympathetic smile. “And I hope you read those rules and regulations because they asked me questions about them.”

Jon chuckles. “It’s lame but I did skim over them last night.”

“Well, I’ll see you around, Jon.”

Val looks at him expectantly, as if she’s waiting for him to say or do something more. It’s been like this for a few days now, Jon has noticed the way she lingers around, her bright eyes trapping his. He likes her, he really does and he supposes she wants something more—perhaps a date. And that would be nice, going out with Val, getting to know her better. But still, he finds himself smiling at her one last time before turning on his heels and heading for the main office. He ignores the flicker of disappointment on her face when he doesn’t ask the question.

 _Next time,_ he thinks, _next time I’ll ask her out._

△▼

At the beginning of every year, Aegon’s Hill organises two simultaneous parties. One for the staff and one for the students. They happen in two different parts of the buildings and they both suck because they’re organised by the university and that can never be fun. It’s their way of welcoming the newbies and apparently serves as an encouragement to get through the year and strengthen friendships.

Since Daenerys’ father, Aerys, is one of the university’s biggest sponsors for their sports and arts departments, last year she had the pleasure (not) of getting dragged to the staff party just so her father could embarrass her with a speech.

This year, she refuses to go with him. “Dad,” she whines, “It’s not necessary.”

“Are you kidding me? I love those parties!”

“Great. Then come and leave me out of it.”

“But I also love it when you’re here to listen to my speeches,” Aerys says.

Daenerys sighs into the phone.

“Plus how long have we not seen each other, Dany?”

A long time. Aerys mostly travels for business purposes nowadays and takes his wife with him. Daenerys believes she hasn’t seen her parents in over two months now, even if they keep in touch via texts and phone calls almost every other day. “I don’t have to come to the party to see you,” she points out, “just call me when you get here and I can meet you. After that, I can go to the students’ party.” Even if that sucks too, at least there will be Loras there to keep her company.

“Dany.” Her father’s voice drops to a pleading tone, which he knows is a weakness of hers. “I just want you to come for the speech and then you can go join your friends.”

She closes her eyes in tiredness, her resolve weakening. “You’re the worst.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” she grumbles, hanging up the phone.

The sun has already set and her roommate, Missandei, is curled up on her bed with a book on her lap and her earphones plugged in as she reads. Despite living with each other since the beginning of their sophomore year, she’s never befriended Missandei. The quiet girl is rarely ever in their dorm and when she is, which is usually at night, she shuts Dany off to read her books.

Daenerys takes her own books and notes out, intent on catching up on her courses. Thankfully Loras isn’t here to distract her this evening as he and Margaery have a wedding to attend.

Twenty minutes later, she’s already growing exhausted, the words looking less and less appealing. Stifling a yawn, her eyes catch on the pack of cigarettes next to her lamp. She chews on her bottom lip, knowing she shouldn’t but with a resigned huff, she grabs it and heads out, only acknowledged by one glance from Missandei.

She’s trying to stop. It’s harder said than done. Daenerys doesn’t even know why she started smoking. It was just a one-time thing in her last year of school until it wasn’t. Putting a leash on that addiction is no easy task but she’s _trying,_ she swears that she is. At least now she no longer smokes every single day like she once used to. It’s gotten significantly better. It’s probably been four days since the last time she had a smoke. She deserves this now.

Her heeled boots click on the tiled floor as she descends the stairs, making her way past a guard as she leaves the building where the dorms are found. Outside, the air is chilly. Her sleeveless pink dress isn’t helping. Daenerys discreetly makes her way to the parking lot before getting a cigarette out, her lips eager to envelop themselves around the cancer stick.

She walks aimlessly down the empty parking lot, keeping a vigilant eye even if no one is around.

That is until a very familiar voice gravelly calls out, “Is this legal?”

Daenerys turns around rapidly, heart leaping at the sight of Jon Snow clad in a grey shirt and a pair of black jeans. They didn’t have class together today so she didn’t get the chance to appreciate how good this colour looks on him. She exhales the smoke loudly. “You scared me,” she says, tilting her head to the side. “Why are you still here at this hour?”

“Had some paperwork to fill in,” he answers.

Daenerys drops the cigarette to the ground, Jon’s eyes dropping to the foot that steps on it. He raises an eyebrow. “Littering and smoking on campus. As I said, I doubt this is legal.”

She smiles. “You know we also have a curfew? People who reside in the dorms are not supposed to leave the building after six.”

Jon looks down at his watch. Then back up to meet her eyes. “I see you’re not one to follow the rules then, miss Targaryen.” His voice is the perfect balance between smooth and rough, his eyes appearing black in this dimmed parking lot.

His words are not meant to have a double meaning but her mind is too clogged with lust for him to care so she shrugs and tells him, as suggestively as she can manage, “Not the ones which are fun to break, no.”

His molten gaze holds hers, so much like when he looked at her at the club—piercing into her, the air between them electrifying with tension. Until he looks away and if she isn’t mistaken, swallows harshly, before walking away to his car.

She bites down on her lip to contain a smile. “Goodnight, Mr Snow,” she says sweetly.

His answer is a gruff, “Goodnight.”

*

“Why can’t you be here?”

Trying to zip her dress while having her phone pressed between her ear and right shoulder is a difficult task but Daenerys attempts to do it anyway, both hands straining to pull up the zipper.

Loras groans in response. “Do you think I don’t want to be there? You know how my grandmother is, Daenerys. Some stupid traditions after the wedding that Marge and I can’t miss.”

She pouts to herself in the mirror, which reminds her to apply her favourite lip gloss. The nude pink colour will suit the cute beige dress she’s decided to wear for today. She should probably opt for a more decent dress because this one’s plunging neckline is too low and the silky fabric stops mid-thigh but Daenerys can’t be bothered to change. “I’ll be bored out of my mind without you,” she complains.

“I’m sure you’ll find a way to entertain yourself,” says Loras, “Don’t be so dramatic. Anyway, I got to go. Margaery said hi by the way.”

“Tell her I miss her. And you too.”

“We miss you too. Have fun today, bye.”

She sighs. “Bye.”

Aerys Targaryen is always one to make dramatic entrances. So when Daenerys sees three black cars pulling up in the driveway, most of the professors _and_ students coming out to watch Aerys step out, with a man opening the door for him, _of course,_ it doesn’t come as a surprise for her. They all love him around here.

Aerys takes off his sunglasses, smiling at the people around him until his eyes fall on Daenerys. “Look at my beautiful princess,” he gushes.

When people turn around to face her, Dany’s smile is more of a grimace, really. “Dad,” she greets with less enthusiasm. “You’re early.”

“So I could spend more time with you. Come in daddy’s arms.”

“That’s just weird,” she says.

Aerys widens his arms and Daenerys huffs in defeat, closing the distance between them to hug him. “Ah, I’ve missed you,” he mumbles into her hair.

Daenerys smiles despite how embarrassing he can be, tightening her grip around him. “I missed you too.”

△▼

Jon did not expect to attend a party so soon. When he was in university, he was never really comfortable with the occasional parties but this one is meant to only be for the professors and he figured it would be rude of him not to come especially since he’s new here so, despite his reluctance, he put on a suit and headed to Aegon’s Hill, not really knowing what to expect.

It’s better than what he was fearing, anyway. Calmer and more…professional. The teaching and non-teaching staff are mingling in the great hall, most of them close to the buffet tables in the corners. He even spots Val near one of those tables, talking to a man and Jon immediately makes his way over to her because…well, she’s the only person he really talks to around here.

“Jon.” Her smile is bright and welcoming. She’s a gorgeous sight this evening, her blonde hair pulled in a high ponytail, a long-sleeved black dress gracing her petite form.

“Hey,” he greets her with a smile of his own before nodding to the man standing next to her.

“Jon, this is Willem. He's a software engineering professor,” Val introduces him to the man at last. He has dark hair much like his, except his eyes are green just like the rim of his glasses.

“Oh. Very nice to meet you,” Jon says, extending his arm for a handshake which Willem gladly accepts.

“You’re both new here, huh? It’s good that you found each other then. I know the first year can be scary,” Willem tells them.

Jon nods. “Yeah, I’m glad I met Val. She’s made this easier.”

She smiles at that, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Well, it’s—”

Before Willem can utter another word, the curtains are drawing at the front of the stage and Jon sees a man with such familiar white-golden hair that he blinks in surprise, wondering where he’s seen him before.

“Oh, here’s Aerys,” Willem fills in.

Jon’s lips part. “Daenerys’ father.”

Val gives him a weird look. “Who?”

Jon clears his throat in an awkward way. “Uh, one of my students.”

“Oh, yes. His daughter goes here,” supplies Willem. “She’s a bit of a troublemaker, isn’t she?”

 _I can’t begin to tell you._ He shrugs. “I don’t know her well. Just from my class and so far she hasn’t gotten me into any trouble, so….”

Willem chuckles. “Aerys is adored around here. There was a flood a few years ago and he single-handedly funded the repairs of the damage it caused to Aegon’s Hill. Since then he’s always been invited to our celebrations. I’ve personally never met a man so filthy rich but still so good deep down. It’s refreshing.”

“He sounds like quite a man,” Jon comments.

After that, everybody around them falls silent as he takes the microphone and begins talking. Aerys seems very passionate about improving many things about the university—from classrooms to sporting equipment and everything he says is positively received by the people around him, some professors even cheering him on for his ideas. Jon can see why he’s so admired and respected, his charisma is easy to appreciate. 

“…And lastly, I just want to take a moment and thank my wonderful daughter.” At that, Jon feels himself go still. When Aerys points at the crowd, the urge to look is stronger than Jon’s will. His gaze follows the finger until it settles on his daughter.

Daenerys Targaryen is standing in a quiet corner in the back, not seeming to want much attention drawn on her. When she feels all the eyes on her, though, she gives a shy smile. Jon tries to pry his eyes away before it’s too late, before he notices the pathetic, offensive excuse for a dress that she’s wearing.

He fails.

“She’s honestly the best thing to ever happen to me. I know many parents say this about their kids but truthfully, no amount of money in the world will ever compare to the feeling I had when I held her in my arms for the first time,” Aerys says. “I’m proud of the woman she’s become today and I’m proud that she is here among all of you. She’ll call this embarrassing but I don’t care—” Aerys drops his voice to a whisper, although it’s being amplified by the microphone anyway so it doesn’t matter, “—I love you, my little dragon.”

A wave of laughter washes over the room and Jon unwittingly looks at Daenerys who has her face buried behind her hands in embarrassment. His lips twitch in a smile at the adorable sight before he schools his face into nothingness again. There's absolutely nothing adorable about her. 

“That’s all I have to say this year. I love Aegon’s Hill and I wish you all to have an excellent year ahead of you, my friends!”

The round of applause he receives is loud and cheerful before the music begins playing.

Val is in Jon’s line of sight before he can understand what is happening. “I love this song,” she says playfully.

Jon nods. “I don’t really like pop music.”

Disappointment clouds her features and Jon wonders if he’s said something wrong. It’s true, he’s always been more into classical music. Val tells him that she wants to dance and he nods, watching as she walks to the middle of the room where teachers are talking, laughing and dancing. She fits in quickly. 

Jon turns to the buffet, eyes scanning the table for something he might like.

“It’s like we can’t stop running into each other, you and I.”

Jon looks up at the voice which is slowly beginning to get familiar. Daenerys’ curly hair and light makeup accentuate the colour of her eyes so well that it’s disorienting. Therefore Jon glances away, busying himself with a drink. He fills his cup with the non-alcoholic cocktail and clears his throat. “Unfortunate coincidences.”

She chuckles lowly. “Unfortunate? You wound me, sir.”

He ignores the way her voice feels like a physical caress. “Your father made an amazing speech,” he tells her instead.

Daenerys smiles at him. “Thanks. Everybody says we look exactly the same, do you think so?”

It’s almost like she knows he doesn’t want to be looking at her right now when she asks this innocent question. Jon lets his gaze slide up to her face, the little smile dancing across her glossy lips causing him to take a big gulp of the sweet drink he has in his hand. “You do resemble him,” he answers. And frowns to himself. Why is he casually chatting with his student when he should be mingling with his colleagues?

Before he can excuse himself, Daenerys is reaching down to the table next to him, grabbing a strawberry from a bowl of fruits and bringing it to her mouth. If he had been drinking, he could blame the alcohol for what he’s doing but he is as sober as ever so he doesn’t know why he stupidly follows the movement of her hand, his eyes dropping to her mouth where she bites down on the red fruit, lips wrapping indecently around it.

When he finally looks away from her lips, her lilac eyes meet his and there’s that _knowing_ look in them. She knows precisely what she does to him. He feels angry at himself for falling for her games so easily, for not having his guards up. “Shouldn’t you be at the students’ party?” he asks, not caring if that sounds dismissively rude.

Daenerys doesn’t miss a beat, “Shouldn’t you be dancing with your girlfriend?”

“I—excuse me?”

“You seem to be very oblivious to women,” she muses, chewing on the strawberry. “That pretty blonde woman has been dancing on her own for a few minutes now and she keeps glancing at you. She wishes you’d dance with her but yet here you are, talking to me.”

He huffs at her, ignoring the rise of heat up his neck. “Not only is that none of your concerns, miss Targaryen,” he drawls, “but it’s also very inappropriate for you to speak such things to me.”

She steps closer to him and Jon panics, wondering what people around them would think of their proximity. Thankfully, no one is looking their way. And it shouldn’t feel wrong anyway, because what’s bad about a professor and a student speaking? He supposes it feels wrong because his eyes are drawn to the pulse in her throat, to the way her pink tongue slips out of her mouth to lick at her lips, to the way the material of her dress clings to her skin and the V down her chest is too low to be decent. Yes. All those things are _definitely_ wrong. Daenerys’ sinful smile should also be added to this list. Her eyes dart across his face and he swallows when she looks at his mouth, openly, for a few seconds too long.

“There are many things that are inappropriate between me and you, don’t you think?” she murmurs.

Jon is at a loss for words, his neck burning up at the implication of her words. And having her so close is a disaster of its own because she smells of something excessively sweet, like the flowers Sansa used to plant in their backyard where they grew up, and has he mentioned that her eyes are otherworldly? Well, up close they’re somehow even more beautiful. Like rare crystals. His mouth is dry, eyes helplessly glued to her.

Until her pretty lips quirk in a half-smirk and she quietly says, "By the way, I love this tie as well." He prays to the old, the new and all the other types of Gods that exist that nobody sees the way she quickly but surely brushes her fingertips over his plaid tie and turns around, walking away with a sinful sway of her hips, leaving him dumbfounded and breathless. 

Only when Daenerys is gone does the world seem to come back in focus around him. He can hear the music again and see the people around him. Jon shakes his head to himself and looks at Val on the dancefloor.

She is indeed looking at him, beckoning him closer with a nice smile. Unlike Daenerys, her smile isn’t seductive or dangerous. It’s just nice. _She_ ’s nice.

Jon walks up to her.

Val is the type of woman he needs.

He ignores that little, annoying voice in his head that asks whether she’s the girl he _wants_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there was supposed to be smut in this chapter but then it turned out longer than i expected so...sorry. it's a medium burn but it's burning alrigHT!
> 
> please let me know what you think :)
> 
> also, totally irrelevant but i've noticed the trend in the jonerys tag of people not liking the fact that daenerys is paired with other men (especially daario lmao that's just triggering to some) but i've yet to see someone get mad that val is in this story or jonerys stories where jon is paired with any other woman, really. i wonder what's up with this.


	4. Chapter 4

Daenerys, it seems, is hell-bent on making his life miserable.

Jon thinks of himself as a decent human being. He wasn’t a bad kid, he tried to stay out of trouble most of the time when he was young and he maintained the habit of helping old people cross the road, no matter how busy he is. In high school, he tried to actively participate in every fundraising campaign his school organised and to this day he still donates money to numerous charities. He’s a good son, a good brother and tried to be a good boyfriend to every girl he ever dated—even his first girlfriend at thirteen years old who was very bad at kissing.

So, he wonders where he went wrong in his life to deserve the human form of torture that is Daenerys Targaryen.

After dancing with Val for a few minutes (or, attempting not to walk on her feet as _she_ sways them both to the music), Jon excuses himself to go to the bathroom. As much as he enjoys the blonde woman's company and getting to know the other people he works with, Jon doesn't like cramped spaces with large crowds. It has always made him uncomfortable. Even growing up, he was not a big fan of being dragged to wedding ceremonies and birthday parties with his family. His brother, Robb, is the total opposite. He loves being with people. Jon prefers solitude or a small company. 

When he steps out of the auditorium, he finally feels at ease as the upbeat music becomes a fading background noise and he isn't being pushed and pulled between bodies. He considers just leaving right there and then, but that would be rude to Val. He'd go back there and tell her first. 

As Jon makes his way to the men's washroom, he spots the much smaller music room where the students are having their party. Theirs looks...wilder. If he thought the music in the party he was just at was bad, it's nothing compared to the obnoxiously loud rock music playing here. Jon only briefly glances at the window, giving him a good view of the hundreds of students dancing and screaming. He decides to leave before his head begins hurting. 

He only makes it halfway down the hall before a soft voice calls out for him. 

Jon stops, confused, and then turns around. 

He startles at the sight of her. “Miss…Targaryen,” he says awkwardly.

She grins as she approaches him. “Call me Daenerys.”

Jon blinks before shaking his head. “No. I don’t believe that’s appropriate.”

She rolls her eyes at him and then stumbles on thin air, her steps wobbly. He almost instinctively reaches forward but catches himself. Not that he’d like to see her fall, but he doesn’t think it would be right to touch her.

The cream-coloured dress she’s wearing is still so distracting to him. Seeing her in it has already driven him to wits’ ends earlier and now, it’s even worse. The dimly lit corridor does nothing to hide the fact that the colour of her dress almost matches her skin, making it mould perfectly to her form, tight at her chest and flaring down at her hips. Not to mention that it stops mid-thigh so he can see her long, smooth legs which end in a pair of sinful black heels. Daenerys is not a very tall woman but most of her height is made up of those ungodly legs.

He tries to pry his eyes away, his whole body itching with _something_ as she comes closer. “Are you bored?” she asks. “Because I am too. _Sooooo_ bored.”

“And so drunk,” he mutters as he observes the way she is walking unsteadily, her lipstick slightly smeared, hair an unruly mess.

“What are you doing here?” he asks. “You should go back in—”

“I saw you walking by and I thought I’d keep you company,” she cuts him off, smiling casually. 

Jon chuckles despite himself. “I’m just going to the loo. I don’t need company, miss Targaryen.”

“Can’t you just call me Daenerys?” she demands, her brows coming together cutely as she juts out her lower lip. Crosses her arms over her chest as she stands in front of him.

“No. I can’t.” As Daenerys takes another step toward him, Jon has half a mind to still her, afraid she’s going to fall on top of him by how clumsily she’s moving. “Anyone could see us right now and I’m not sure _this_ would look good.”

He was trying to tell her to leave but instead, it seems he’s sparked an idea in that wicked mind of hers by the way her eyes twinkle, a grin spreading across her rosy lips. “I know!” she exclaims and before Jon can process her next move, she is grabbing his hand and pulling him with her.

“Dae—what are you doing?” he hisses at her.

She just laughs and pulls him into a dark hallway and then stops in front of a door where the letters ‘OUT OF USE’ are written in big, white letters on the wooden frame. Jon raises a questioning eyebrow at her.

“Watch this,” she whispers to him as if telling him the world’s biggest secret, before reaching up to her hair and pulling out her hairpin that was holding back some of her silver curls. She bends down and pushes the sharp object inside the padlock, tongue slipping out in concentration as she twists and turns and then smiles triumphantly. “Tada,” she dramatically says, pushing the door open with one hand while the other is placed on her hip sassily. 

As funny as this was, Jon shakes his head at her. “And why do you want to break in a….”

“Abandoned storeroom,” she finishes for him and takes his hand again, pulling him inside before he can utter another word. 

Jon knows it’s not strength that is making him stay with her. Those slender fingers of hers don’t have enough power to drag him around like she has been doing so a part of him knows he can—and should—leave at any moment. Yet, he follows her inside and watches carefully as she shuts the door behind her and switches a light on. The room is vacant save from some boxes and a dusty bookshelf. 

“How many times have you done this?” he wonders.

“You don’t wanna know,” Daenerys answers, giggling.

Jon sighs. “You have to be the most troublesome person I know,” he confesses.

Daenerys hums. “You don’t even know to what extent,” she murmurs, her voice suggestive as she comes in front of him, violet eyes searching his.

This reminds Jon that being here in this tight space, alone with the girl who has been driving him crazy for weeks now, is not a good idea. “I should go.” His voice has gotten suddenly deep, perhaps because his throat is closing up at the way she’s gazing up at him now, something in her amethyst eyes that is too dangerous to name.

“You should,” she agrees, much to his surprise. Then she is closing the space between them and in this old, smelly room there’s not much he can do but back up against the door as an attempt to put some distance between them. She doesn’t stop until he is pressed up against it and she is standing so close he can feel her breath on his chin. “Or we could have some fun.”

“I’m not sure I want to know what your definition of fun is,” he says in a low voice.

“Are you sure?” she whispers, her dainty hands crawling up his chest and her arms slowly wrapping themselves around his neck.

Jon swallows hard. His mind is yelling for him to take her hands off but she’s so close, her eyes are boring into his, pupils fat with want and her lips are parted ever so slightly and he’s _so_ lost. “Daenerys, please,” he begs. For what, he can’t tell. For her to stop. For her to continue.

“I knew my name would sound hot coming from your lips,” she states boldly. Licking her lips, she inches her face closer to him. “I want you so badly.”

He closes his eyes, hoping that not staring into hers will help him collect his thoughts and think rationally. One of them has to. “We can’t,” he tells her and his voice sounds pathetically weak to his own ears.

She makes a sound of protest. “We can,” she opposes.

He’s about to list all the logical reasons why this is not a good idea, like the fact that he could not only lose this job but ruin his reputation as a professor or how this could get her in trouble too and given how her father is worshipped in this place, ruin his reputation as well. But all those reasons seem so unimportant, so basic when she brushes her lips against his, her sweet smell infiltrating his nostrils, her fingers brushing over the curls at the base of his neck.

He surprises them both when he kisses her.

Daenerys makes a sound from the back of her throat but it gets swallowed by his mouth covering hers, testing the fullness of her lower lip with his own then his tongue. She presses herself against him and Jon’s hands frame her waist, pulling her flush against his body. The material of her dress is silken to the touch, slippery even. It’d be so easy to take off.

Daenerys kisses him back just as hard as if she’s also been thinking about this. Her lips are soft and warm against his and she sucks on his bottom lip eagerly. When Jon groans, he feels her smile. He knows that smile too well. That victorious, sinful twitch of her lips. It only heightens his desire for her. The blood in his veins is pumping for her, lust clouding his mind and blocking out everything logical. There’s only her. The feel of her, all soft and curvy against his hard body. And the taste of her, something sweet, minty and…and liquor.

One second he is kissing her as his life depends on it and the next he can taste the alcohol on her lips and he remembers that she is drunk. That this is wrong. He wrenches himself from her, both of them breathing heavily as they stare at each other.

Daenerys frowns in confusion, her lips swollen and parted in surprise. A glint of disappointment in her eyes. “What’s wrong?” she asks breathlessly. “Why did you stop?”

He doesn’t answer her, only lets out a great breath as he leaves the room, the feeling and taste of her mouth lingering on his lips.

△▼

“I can’t believe you haven’t thought of me in so long.”

Jon rolls his eyes at his friend’s voice over the phone. He didn’t expect Sam Tarly to call him this early in the morning but he can say that it is a pleasant surprise. “I’ve been busy,” he tells him apologetically. “How have you been, Sam?”

“Shitty. Gilly and I fought again and you know how that goes.”

Jon sighs quietly. Sam and his girlfriend always argue and, as he said, he does know how that goes. “Let me guess, she thinks it’s time for marriage?”

“Yes,” groans his friend. “Gods, I seriously hate her sometimes.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t.” He chuckles. “But you know me, I’m not ready for marriage. I don’t want kids.” He gags.

Jon laughs. “Would that be so bad?”

“Uh, yeah! It most definitely would.” Jon can practically see him shaking his head before he says, “Anyway. How are you? How’s Aegon’s Hill?”

“It’s wonderful,” Jon answers truthfully. “I miss Winterfell a lot but other than that, I love it here. And I love the job.”

“As long as you’re happy then it makes me feel better about how much I miss you.” Jon smiles at his friend’s supportive words. “So, you got a girlfriend yet?”

Jon snorts at the question. “No,” he answers.

“Really? Sucker. I heard southern girls are the prettiest,” Sam says, voice dropping to a whisper. “Gilly’s in the next room. Don’t wanna wake the beast.”

Jon grimaces to himself as the first person he associates with the words ‘pretty’ and ‘southern girl’ is Daenerys. He tries to shake that thought away. “Yeah, they’re really pretty.” He can still remember her panting in his mouth, her hand playing with his hair. He gulps, ignoring the warm feeling in his lower abdomen. “But I don’t have time for that.”

“Make time for it,” Sam drawls, half-joking, “You know Ned won’t stop asking me about when you’re bringing home a wife.”

Jon’s smile flickers away. “Yeah….”

“You heard about Robb, right?”

Jon hums approvingly.

“And? I hope you aren’t planning to miss the engagement party.”

Jon runs a hand over his face. “Of course not.” He could not do this to his brother, no matter how busy he might be. And any excuse is good to return to his family again because he misses them more than anything. “I’m definitely coming.”

“Good! Are you bringing someone with you?”

“Now where did _this_ come from?”

“Nothing. I’m just saying your father would be happy if you brought a date,” Sam says nonchalantly.

Jon hides his annoyance about this topic. “I’m sure he would,” he answers blankly.

“Well, maybe—” Sam cuts himself off and Jon hears a feminine voice calling from the distance. Cursing under his breath, his best friend says, “The monster is ready to talk. I’ll speak to you later.”

Jon chuckles. “Don’t be too hard on her. Take care, okay?”

“You too. We all miss you. Goodbye, Jon.”

When Sam hangs up, Jon starts getting ready for work. And by the time he gets into his car, he inevitably begins thinking about the events of yesterday.

_What the fuck was that?_

He can’t believe nor understand, for the life of him, how he allowed for this to happen. The moment he stepped out of that storeroom, Jon felt such an immeasurable amount of dread that he thought he was going to throw up.

Jon found it hard to focus on anything after that. His mind kept replaying the whole thing even when he returned to the party, even when he tried to nonchalantly chat with Val and some other friends. But his mind was elsewhere, thoroughly consumed by her. The way she looked at him with those piercing eyes and how powerless he was to it, to the pull between them that was too strong to be denied. The way her body fitted perfectly against his, how he wanted to tear that dress off of her and have his way with her all night long, the aftermath be damned. 

_That’s_ the worst part. He knows it was wrong but yet there’s nothing he’d like more than to finish what he started. One taste had him addicted. Which makes him even more irritated with himself and his lack of self-control.

What does Daenerys Targaryen have, anyway, that he can’t find in other women? If anything she is irritable and rude, indecent in more ways than one and the list could go on. Yet she is the only person who manages to weaken all his defences with just one look.

It’s those damned eyes, he is sure.

Jon turns up the music in his car, forcing himself to think about something—anything else. Not violet eyes and silver hair.

He reaches Aegon’s Hill the same time Val’s pink car pulls up in the driveway. She greets him with her signature grin in the parking lot. “Hey,” she says.

Jon smiles back. “Hi.”

Val tilts her head to the side. “Are you okay?”

Jon blinks. “Um, yeah. Why?”

“I don’t know. You just look a bit…tired today.”

Oh, right. Perhaps because he did not sleep at all last night—reminiscing about kissing Daenerys Targaryen.

Not just that. But everything that could have happened if he did not stop. What it would feel like to kiss down her neck, to have her legs wrap around his torso. What sounds she would make if he put his mouth on her cunt or fucked her, right then and there. 

Gods. He’s a complete mess.

“I am,” he answers, unconvincingly. “I just…you know, stayed up all night to work. Had to mark some papers.” It’s not a full lie. He did do that for _half_ of the night and the other, he lay in bed consumed with thoughts of platinum locks bouncing on pale skin, haunting eyes boring into his…

“Tell me about it.” Val sighs. “I feel the same way.”

He feels bad for not being entirely truthful to his friend but then again, what could he tell Val? As Jon looks at the blue-eyed girl, he wonders what she would think of him were he to tell her the truth. There’s no doubt in his mind that she would be disgusted. And angry. He's come to know Val well enough to know that they share the same morals and principles. Yet right now he feels like he would disappoint her. 

“We deserve a break,” he tells her light-heartedly as they walk through the corridor leading up to the staff room.

She looks at him, a little smile dancing on her pink lips. “What do you suggest?” she asks.

Jon finds her blue eyes, seeing the invitation in them clear as the skies above them. He opens his mouth to suggest that they could go out for a cup of coffee or to see a movie together in the afternoon. He could use a distraction right now and he knows that she’s been hinting for him to ask her out for a moment now.

However, before he can ask anything, the bell rings and she gasps. “Oh! I’m going to be late.” She gives Jon a hurried squeeze on his forearm, “I’ll see you at lunch.”

Jon watches her leave, much to his dismay. He still has a few hours to kill before he has class with the sophomores. Before he has to face the music.

△▼

Daenerys isn’t the only one to notice that Jon has been acting strange today.

Even Loras mentions it as they leave for their second class. “Have you noticed how weird Snow was during class?” he asks, chewing loudly on a gum.

She tries to act nonchalant. “Yeah.”

When he messed up a few things during his lecture, Jon looked embarrassed. His cheeks reddened, eyes fleeing the students’. She couldn’t help but feel bad. She knows his nervousness is her fault, proven by the fact that every time his eyes met hers, he stuttered awkwardly and looked away so fast that it made her want to roll her eyes.

She feels as if though she’s…corrupted him, for lack of better words. Last night was _interesting._ Even if she returned to her dorm so drunk that she fell asleep in her dress with a face full of makeup, Dany woke up this morning recalling their kiss clearly. Well, not clearly. She can't remember what it felt like to kiss him or what he tasted like. She wonders if his pillowy lips were as soft as she imagined they would be or if she had a chance to run her fingers through his luscious curls. But Daenerys could only remember that they kissed, not the specifics of it. She also remembers he ran out after that. 

“Now _you_ ’re being weird,” her friend tells her, raising an eyebrow.

Daenerys shakes her head at him. “I’m fine.”

Loras nudges her with his elbow. “What were you just thinking about?”

Dany has to look away from his golden eyes because she sucks at lying to him. Loras has been her friend since forever, she can’t remember any time she’s ever been dishonest with him. She wants to tell him about what happened with Jon. _So badly._ But she knows she shouldn't. As much as she trusts Loras, she owes Jon this much. He probably regrets what happened more than anything. Maybe he did not even kiss her back. That's what worries Daenerys. Did she throw herself at him? Was he repulsed by it? Guilt churns in her stomach. As much as she wants this man, desperately so, she would never take advantage of him. She enjoys getting a rise out of him and she likes the seduction game between them (well, more like the seduction game played by _her_ while he just gets all red and flustered). But judging by the way he seems so distressed today, she's afraid she is the one who kissed him and he was just disgusted by it. 

Gnawing on her lower lip, she diverts the topic to him. “I was thinking about me setting you up with Renly Baratheon,” she singsongs.

Loras stops his obnoxious chewing, raises an eyebrow at her and snorts. “Shut the fuck up,” he drawls. “First, you’re just changing the subject but fine I’ll drop it. And second, I’m not into that guy.”

“Yes, you are.”

“That’s not true.”

“I’m your best friend,” she deadpans. “I know you better than you know yourself.”

“Then you’d know that I’m happy single. In fact, there’s nothing…”

As Loras begins ranting about how much he hates being in committed relationships, Dany spots Jon Snow from afar. He’s in the parking lot with that blonde woman who is always with him. Literally all the fucking time. Dany can’t help the small, barely noticeable twinge of annoyance in her chest as she watches them. The woman is smiling and laughing, so very evidently into him (she’s twirling her hair now and then, her eyes literally shaped as hearts when she looks at him, how the fuck is Jon so oblivious?) and Jon is standing there, left hand stuffed in his jeans, his other hand rubbing his beard as they talk.

Daenerys can’t take her eyes off him.

There’s something about Jon. He was just a pretty man at first, someone she badly wanted to have sex with because he was quite a sight with his melancholic grey eyes, curly hair and pouty lips. _A scratch._ But she couldn't get rid of the scratch. If anything, the itching has worsened—seeping deep into her skin now. She hates it. Hates him for it. How did he get under skin? Why does she still want him so badly?

Daenerys is even further vexed with herself as she feels a strange kind of bitterness bubble under her skin as that blonde woman puts her hand on Jon’s arm, laughing loudly at something he said. Dany holds back a scowl. He’s anything but a comedian, that much she knows, he can barely crack a smile.

 _Maybe that’s just with you. This is his friend, possibly a girlfriend. She can hit on him all she wants and unlike you, it’s not considered a bad thing._ The thorns of discomfort in her chest grow sharper. It’s unfair, she thinks stubbornly, that this girl gets to be around Jon like that. Daenerys knows that if the circumstances were different, Jon would have been hers in an instant. The possessiveness of that thought surprises her. 

The realisation makes her frown. “What’s that feeling…when you can’t have something but someone else can and it just doesn’t feel right?”

“Jealousy,” Loras replies unsurely, giving her a weird look.

Daenerys widens her eyes.She’s never been jealous of anyone in her life. Surely she’s not going to start now, not jealous of this random woman who has nothing on her just because she is flirting with her professor. She denies it whole-heartedly. 

“What’s up with you? What can’t _you,_ out of all people _,_ have?” Loras teases. “As if Aerys’ daughter needs to be jealous of anything or anyone ever.”

Daenerys pouts slightly. She’s afraid that this is something her father's money can't help her with. “Nothing,” she mutters, looping her arm with her friend’s. “Let’s go eat.”

△▼

Jon is casually putting his belongings in the backseat of his car at the end of the day when, out of the blue, the passenger door opens. He drops his bag in shock as a head of silver hair peeks in and then, Daenerys Targaryen is sitting next to him.

All of his muscles go still.

He looks at her incredulously.

She lifts her shoulders. “What?”

“What?” he repeats slowly. “Oh, I don’t know. Someone could’ve bloody well seen you getting in _my_ car!” He snarls at her, panic fisting his heart as he looks around alarmingly.

Thank heavens the parking lot is practically empty at this hour, not enough people to notice a student sneaking into his car anyway. But still, Jon feels like his heart might burst out of his chest.

She raises a brow. “Well, you better drive then.”

He gives an exasperated huff, still rattled and confused by her presence but knows it’s fruitless to argue with her. He starts the engine and it’s not before they’re in the main road, blocks away from the university that he finally relaxes. Before he realises who he’s with and he tenses up all over again. Keeping his eyes on the road, Jon asks, “What’s your problem?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Huh?”

“You seem unwell.”

“Do I?”

“Look,” she starts, sighing, “I think I owe you an apology.”

Jon stiffens, his body growing taut with tension. “I think,” he begins, licking his lips nervously, “I think we should just forget that happened.”

“No. I think adults shouldn’t run from their problems,” she states.

He hates to admit that she has a good point.

“Anyway, you must know by now that I find you really attractive.”

Jon presses his lips together. _It’s not like you’ve been hiding it,_ he almost wants to tease. But restrains himself from doing so. What she doesn’t know is that he finds her just as attractive, wants her just as much. But unlike her, he is very well aware of all the kinds of problems this entails. Perhaps Daenerys is aware, too, but she simply doesn’t care.

If Jon could be like her, if he could also not care about everything else then he would have not stopped yesterday. Fuck, he did not want to. He wanted to have her against that wall, bring her back to his apartment so he could sprawl her on his bed and fuck her senseless. He can almost imagine it now; her silver hair mending perfectly with his white sheets, her big violet eyes staring up at him as he would thrust into her. Would she be tight and hot for him? Would she moan his name?

“And while I wish something would happen between us,” she says, “I want to apologise for my behaviour yesterday.”

Jon frowns. “Why?”

“Because…I kissed you. Look, I don’t know you well but you seem like a great guy and I don't wish to upset you. I’m sorry for what I did because it's obvious that it has made you very uncomfortable.”

Jon looks at her, taken aback by the guilt written on her voice. She is looking down at her intertwined hands placed in her lap, playing with the ring on her forefinger.

“You don’t really remember what happened, do you?” he questions softly.

Daenerys doesn’t look at him. “I know I took you to that storage room,” she mumbles. “And I kissed you. Then you ran off. And today you’ve looked like shit.”

Jon clears his throat. “Yeah…not really. I kissed you.”

A beat passes.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. _Oh_.”

“Oh,” she repeats, voice clearer now. “You kissed me,” she states.

Jon looks away, gulping. “I did.”

“I never would’ve thought,” she says, her voice light and teasing again, and he almost regrets correcting her. “Do you regret it?”

“I should,” he mutters distastefully.

“But you don’t,” she concludes.

“It’s wrong, okay?” he says, a bit forcefully.

“But you want it.” Her voice is suggestive and he hates the way his body reacts to it.

He clenches his jaw. “Does it really matter?” he snaps, trying to sound firm, ignoring the dangerous flame in his chest just at the mere thought of having her. “I could lose my job over this. It’s not worth it.”

“Only if someone finds out,” she points out. “If we fuck right now, who would know?”

He swallows hard. “You really don’t hold back, do you?”

She hums a negative sound. “Why would I? One of us has to be honest while the other is in denial.”

“I’m not in denial,” he says weakly.

“You are. There’s something between us, I know you feel it too.” She is unashamed with her words, speaking nonchalantly as if she isn’t talking about fucking him. Gods. She might be the death of him in the most agonising ways. “I thought it’d go away but if anything, it’s only gotten worse. Do you feel it too? Tell me I’m not alone.”

_No, no no no, no._

Jon finds himself nodding numbly, admitting his darkest and deepest desires to her. Upon seeing her victorious smile and that haughty glint in her eyes, he feels like a fool for giving in so easily. Again. But only for a second, because the next he’s wondering where this is leading and the anticipation eats him alive.

“What do _you_ want, Jon?”

You, he wants to say, but without the problems surrounding it.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” he tells her, turning down a lonely road which leads to an almost uninhabited village. He doesn’t know where else to take her, is afraid of what would happen if anyone saw them together. So when he finds an abandoned gas station, Jon stops his car in the parking lot, sighing. “You and I both know this can’t happen. Not only am I a professor but you are in my class, I have a certain power over you. You know how that would be seen if this ever gets out.”

When she slings her leg over, gracelessly falling over his lap, Jon grunts in surprise. Her long hair falls over his face and she pushes the strands of moonlight curls away, smiling down at him, her fingers lingering on his beard. His hands unwittingly drop to her waist, feeling the softness of the garment, fingers twitching to take it off and expose the pale skin he knows he’ll find underneath. It’s shameful how many times he’s pictured taking her clothes off. Every new dress or skirt she wore to class, he imagined how it would slide off her body. And now he's _this_ close to finding out.

“Who has power over who?” she asks softly, leaning in in a maddeningly slow fashion, letting him taste her breath.

He tries to straighten the path of his thoughts. “You know what I mean,” he mumbles, eyes scanning her beautiful face.

“I know,” she whispers, “But no one will find out.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because,” she licks her lips thoughtfully, “I’m good with secrets.” He rolls his eyes at that non-factual answer and she chuckles, so close to him he can almost feel the vibrations on his mouth. “Seriously. I promise you no one will as long as we’re both discreet.”

“You call yourself discreet?” he asks in amusement. “You practically jumped in my car. In the university parking lot.”

“Fine. That won’t happen again, I swear, I was just desperate to talk to you.”

“You don’t know what can or cannot happen,” he informs her.

“Exactly,” she says, “How do you know this can’t work?”

Her arguments shouldn’t appeal to him as much as they do. He knows what is right. _This_ is not. But his hands clutch at her waist a bit tighter and his eyes trace the lovely curves of her mouth and chin. “Daenerys…”

“Jon,” she counters, fierce eyes staring into his. “Are you going to kiss me?” she asks, her hand coming up his chest, sharp black nails digging into his neck. “Or should I do it this time?”

He loathes the taunting in her voice. He loathes the all too knowing look in her eyes. Daenerys is not blind to the effect she has on him and she toys with that knowledge like a cat with a defenceless mouse. He groans in defeat, hoping the gods forgive him, as he brings his hand up around her neck to pull her down.

Daenerys’ mouth meets his in an explosive kiss, her lips parting invitingly as he thrusts his tongue inside her. So sweet. So warm. _Fuck._ He knows he’s in deep trouble when his tongue caresses hers and he feels her hum of pleasure vibrate down his throat. He kisses her languidly, passionately and deeply until he can’t breathe anymore. He only pulls away to inhale before her hot mouth chases his, her teeth tugging on his bottom lip teasingly and running her tongue over it. He wants her so badly it’s driving him mad.

When she leans back to catch her breath, his lips trail to her neck, nosing at her throat as he inhales her sweet perfume. Something that makes him think of flowers and sex. She moans as he nips on the soft skin below her ear and then her back hits the steering wheel and she hisses. They both pull away, silent for a second before she chuckles breathlessly.

She’s more beautiful than ever here, in his arms, her hair ruffled and mouth bruised from his attentions. Her eyes are unbelievably dark with desire, blocking out the violet he's so intrigued with. Jon gulps roughly, wishing he could stop this but knowing he can’t. It’s too late. She’s the vastest ocean and he is drowning, willingly, ignoring all the rescue ships.

Just as he wonders what he should do next, his phone vibrates next to him. His eyes snap to the screen. _Incoming call: Val._ Jon’s mind takes a second to work properly, still utterly consumed by Daenerys’ taste, smell and the feel of her skin, and he finally remembers that they were supposed to meet up for lunch with his other colleagues. Val is very outgoing, determined to get him to mingle with the other professors and make new friends. Jon is grateful for that because he’s not that good with new people.

“Aren’t you gonna take this?” Daenerys asks, violet eyes trailing from his phone back to his eyes, her gaze almost challenging.

He nods. Reaches for his phone and swipes right to answer. “Hey, Val?”

“Jon.” His friend’s voice is as pleasant and cheery as ever. “I texted you a few times, where are you?”

“Uh,” Jon awkwardly drawls, not knowing where he is. A lonely parking lot in the middle of nowhere. Oh, and Daenerys Targaryen straddling his lap. He doesn’t know how to explain either of these to Val so he licks his lips and says, “I’m home, actually. Sorry I was in the shower.”

“Oh? That was quick, I thought you just left uni.”

Jon closes his eyes, embarrassed at himself for being such a terrible liar. Daenerys is smirking down at him and he glares at her. “Yeah. Well, the lack of traffic helps. Um, anyway, you were saying…?”

“About lunch. You forgot?” She sounds disappointed already.

“No, of course not.” His breath catches in his throat as Daenerys takes his hand, lifting it from her hip and bringing it to her chest. He looks up at her with wide eyes but she only gives him an innocent look, smiling, as she directs his fingers to her breast. He almost chokes on air as she presses his hand against a full breast, letting him feel its weight despite the dress covering her up.

“Jon?”

He shakes his head to himself. “As I was saying, I haven’t forgotten.”

He gives her a sharp look but she only leans further into his touch and even as she drops her hand, he lets his there. His heart pounding, cock stirring as he squeezes her full tit, completely in control of his own actions. Daenerys’ head falls back as his thumb runs over nipple over the fabric, feeling the hard little nub under his fingertip.

“So you’ll be coming, right?” Val sounds unsure.

“Yes,” he manages to stutter out as Daenerys drops her head to his neck, kissing his throat. “I-I’ll meet you guys at the restaurant.”

“In thirty minutes, Jon.”

He inhales sharply as he feels her teeth sink in his neck, smoothing it with her soft lips and hot tongue. He’s barely holding on here, his last thread of sanity growing thinner by the second. “I’ll be there,” he repeats through clenched teeth, fingers gripping his phone tightly.

“Jon, are you sick or something? You don’t sound well,” Val says.

Daenerys’ hands trail down, unbuttoning her way down his shirt. All he can do is bite back a groan as her small hands press against his stomach as she teasingly nips on the skin of his neck, her sharp nails torturously running up and down his abdomen. “Val, I’m okay,” he says—or snaps. He feels guilty for raising his voice at her but he’s losing his mind here and can’t keep this conversation going any longer. Daenerys giggles against his throat and he grabs at her hip forcefully. “I need to go. Just text me the address and I’ll be there.”

He tosses his phone aside as he hangs up and Daenerys meets his eyes. “Is she your girlfriend?” she asks, eyes squinting at him.

Jon blinks. “No,” he answers. _I’m not a cheater,_ he wants to add as if this would make whatever they’re doing any more ethical.

“Good.” Her mouth is on his again and his thoughts scatter uselessly, the only thing he can do is pull her body flush against his and massage his tongue against hers.

“I have to go in a few minutes,” he mumbles against her lips.

She hums understandingly but grinds herself down on him and he groans in her mouth. “Daenerys,” he warns.

“We’ll make it quick,” she whispers, tugging her dress down.

Jon pulls back, letting out a heavy breath as the gown pools at her waist, exposing her black lacy bra and the smooth expanse of her stomach.

But gods, is she beautiful.

Better than anything his lust-fogged mind could’ve made up last night when he pictured what could happen if he did not stop kissing her. Her skin is smooth and pale and he just wants to put his mouth all over her until she is a writhing mess. 

His hands are drawn to her skin almost magnetically, fingertips brushing over her soft flesh as she sighs, encouraging him to grab her breasts as she unclasps her bra. Jon is mesmerised by the sight of her dusty pink nipples erect and straining for his touch. Just under her right tit is a tattoo. It takes his mind a few seconds (probably since all of the blood has rushed south) to recognise that it’s a dragon—three dragons, actually. With a growl, he latches his lips onto a nub and she mewls in surprise, her hands fisting his curly hair.

“Jon,” she gasps as he toys with the other breast, pinching her nipple between his thumb and forefinger as his teeth scrape over the hardened peak of the other. Her skin is warm and receptive to his touch, the pressure of her fingers combing through and tugging at his hair maddening. He detaches his lips from her, appreciating the way his beard has chafed her skin, how her breast is now bruised and moist.

“You’re so pretty,” he rasps, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he can think twice about them. He bends his mouth to her skin again, kissing the tattoo as she shudders above him.

Her amethyst eyes find his, lust-filled and dark. He wants nothing more than to get her on a bed where he can take his sweet time with her, get to know every part of her body and how to touch her to have her make those pretty, breathless sounds and dig her sharp nails into his skin and scalp to the point of it being painful. He wants so much more than what he can have, which is already too much.

Daenerys tugs on his belt as he watches her from below, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She smiles wickedly when her hands find his cock, already swollen and hard. Ready for her. Done with the pleasantries, she lifts herself, pushes aside her underwear and sinks down on him.

A deep growl emerges from his throat, the sensation of her silken walls engulfing his cock _too_ good. For something so wrong, right now he can’t bring himself to remember one reason why they shouldn’t be doing this all the time.

His hands grip her thighs under her black, polka dot dress. He slides his hands across her skin, coaxing her to move, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes.

Daenerys’ hair falls down her face, her bottom lip pinched between her teeth as she savours the feeling of him filling her completely. Exhaling a shaky breath, she finally rolls her lips. Slowly. Both of them groan. She uses his shoulders as leverage to move, his cock sliding in and out of her. Every time she sinks back down on his length, she _whimpers_ and by the gods, he wants to hear that sound every single day of his life. 

Even the lack of space and uncomfortable positions can’t lessen the sheer pleasure he feels. The way she moves on top of him, her face scrunched up and lost in passion, head thrown back, a light sheen of sweat making her skin glow…Jon thinks she looks like a goddess. Too beautiful to be real, to be in his arms. So he touches every bit of skin he can find to assure himself that this is happening and if he needs any more proofs, the wet sounds of their skins slapping together and smell of sex filling his car completely are enough.

The swaying of her breasts as her movements grow untamed and erratic is too enticing for him to ignore so he buries his face in between them, alternating between bites and licks from the underside of her tits to the taut nipples.

Daenerys’ filthy moans and cries are like music to his ear, his hips lifting to meet her thrusts as her cunt clenches and unclenches around him. When he reaches a hand underneath her dress to where they are joined, his thumb circling her sensitive clit, she cries out particularly loudly, “ _Yes._ Just like that.”

He continues to play with her pussy as his other hand cradles her head, bringing her down for a kiss. He can’t tell who is moaning and who is grunting, the sounds lost in each other’s mouths as their tongues join in a messy tangle.

“I’m on the pill,” she leans down to whisper in his ear, tugging at his earlobe. Jon groans, his free arm wrapping around her back as he helps her move, pounding into her heat. “Come inside me. You feel so good. So fucking good. Yes, Jon! Come inside—”

The last word catches in her throat as she shrieks. He _feels_ her shatter—the way she tenses up before shaking more violently, the gush of wetness that drenches his hand still between her legs, a loud sob echoing in his mouth. His orgasm follows closely behind as her sweet cunt milks it from him, the force of it so powerful that he hits the back of his skull against the headrest, so hard it leaves behind a numbing pain.

Reality is slow to settle in. His heart finally stops hammering in his chest, his breathing evening out and his length softens inside of her. Daenerys looks up from where she buried her head in the crook of his neck. Her forehead is coated with sweat, silver hair mussed up and sticking to the sides of her face, violet eyes soft and her mouth cherry red. “Well,” she says, her voice husky from all the keening and moaning, “Whatever we are going to do about this, Mr Snow?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> car sex? done. here's to me attempting to make them fuck in every possible location before this story ends.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is +12k words and unbetaed so i'm sorry in advance for the errors. the next chapters will be as long or longer because i'm *trying* to finish this in 10 chapters to work on other stuff. (a pride & prejudice au that i've been talking about since forever...i swear it's coming) 
> 
> happy reading and please let me know your thoughts!!! ❤️

Jon remembers all the times he sucked at being rebellious during his childhood. Like that one instance when he and Robb were playing in their backyard with a football and accidentally broke one of the windows in their father’s office.

His brother had gasped and then laughed. While Jon, on the other hand, was spooked right away.

“What are we going to do?” he yelled at Robb.

His sibling only shrugged. “Let’s just get the ball back and pretend we don’t know anything.”

So they snuck into that room, walked on the shattered pieces of glass to retrieve their old football and got out. That was it for Robb. Problem solved. When dinner came, Ned looked at his two sons and questioned them about it. “While I was at work,” he had said, “Someone or something broke my window. Do you guys know who did it?”

“Nope,” Robb answered easily, digging into his food.

Jon felt a bead of sweat dribble down his temple and when his father’s gaze landed on him, he blurted out, “It was Robb and I. We were playing in the yard and I kicked the ball and—and it broke the glass.”

Of course, Ned already knew that and only wished to test his sons’ honesty but it still proved that Jon was, from a young age, a shitty liar and an even shittier lawbreaker.

That was before he met Daenerys.

Having sex with one of his students in his car in the middle of nowhere, a few minutes before he was supposed to have lunch with his colleagues was _the_ most exciting and unethical thing Jon had done in a _very_ , very long time. He doesn't know if that's just sad or crazy.

“Jon?”

He glances up at the voice, his thoughts broken. Val is staring at him, curiosity present in her ocean eyes. “Hey,” he says.

“Do you not like the food?” she asks, motioning to the untouched pasta on his plate. Jon had been idly twisting his fork into it.

He chuckles. “It’s great,” he says. “What about your plate?”

“Amazing. I haven’t had lasagna in so long because of my diet.”

“Your diet?”

“Yeah,” she answers sheepishly. “Been trying to lose a few pounds since uni started. I barely have time for the gym.”

“I think you look great,” he says.

He told her that out of honesty but the compliment seems to mean a lot to her. She blushes, smiling shyly as she looks away.

In front of them, someone clears their throat. Jon looks up at Davos—one of the professors they’re having lunch with. The old man gives them a little smile. “You two remind me of me and my wife,” he says.

Jon opens his mouth to object but he continues, “She always gave me those lovey-dovey eyes too. Except she doesn’t anymore. Now she looks like she wishes to murder me.”

Next to him, Melisandre laughs. This computer science prof reminds him of his ex-girlfriend, Ygritte, except Mel’s hair is a brighter shade of red. “You’re too funny, Davos,” she says.

Jon awkwardly joins in the laughter.

This is what he’s supposed to do, he tells himself, try and socialise with his new friends. Even if his mind is preoccupied with what happened an hour ago. He doesn’t know how he even drove here after that, to this fancy restaurant to meet up with Val, Melisandre and Davos.

When they finished _fucking_ like some uncontrollable beasts, which Jon was ashamed of - he did not even know he had _that_ side to him - Daenerys slid back into her seat, nonchalantly checking her appearance in a small mirror she retrieved from her bag. As she applied a coat of lipstick, Jon gazed at her bizarrely.

“What?” she asked.

“You don’t seem very phased by what just happened,” he told her. He still couldn’t believe it, couldn’t even shake off the feeling of her fingers digging into his scalp as she rode him.

She pressed her lips together. “Are you expecting a speech of regret?” she retorted. “Because that’s not me. I’ve loved fucking you and we should do it again if you wish.” The smile she gave him was both sinful and angelic.

Jon would probably never get used to her brutal, crass honesty. But he couldn’t lie and say he didn’t like it. Her confidence was alluring in a strange, twisted way.

She continued, “The question is: do you wish?”

They both looked down when his phone beeped. It was Val texting him the address where they were supposed to meet. He looked back up at Daenerys. She chuckled. “You wouldn’t want to keep her waiting,” she told him demurely before she leaned in, close enough for him to feel the ghost of her lips on his. “But answer me, do you wish for this to happen again?” Jon instinctively closed in the gap between them before he could catch himself and Daenerys brushed her lips against his, sending a jolt of electricity down his spine before she leaned back in her seat. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she decided and handed him his phone.

“What?” he asked, confused.

“Take my number,” she stated.

Even as he unlocked the device, Jon began hesitating. “Is that…”

“Appropriate?” she finished with a knowing smile. “No. None of this is.”

That didn’t stop him from taking her number. Neither did it stop her from kissing him before she left his car which – to add fire to his mental dilemma – smelled like sex the entire time he drove to the restaurant. He sprayed some perfume on him, hoping it would be enough to hide the scent. If it didn't work, Val and the others said nothing about it. 

And now he’s sitting here, trying to make small talk with his colleagues as his mind tries to wrap around the fact that he had sex with Daenerys Targaryen and _, seven hells_ , has every intention of doing it again.

“I’ve had a great time with you lot,” Davos says as they finish eating. He finishes his glass of wine. “I think we should do this more often.”

“Definitely,” Val agrees.

Jon nods. “Yeah. Sure.”

As they go their separate ways from the resto, Jon walks out with Val until they reach his car. “Do you need a ride?” he asks kindly.

She has that shy smile on again as she moves her head just barely in a nod. “If it’s no trouble…”

Jon shakes his head. “Of course not.”

Val gets into his car as Jon feels his phone chime in the back pocket of his jeans. He takes it out, doing a momentary double-take at the sight of a text message from none other than Daenerys.

**Had fun at your date?**

He stares at the screen for a long while. He can almost imagine the teasing look in her eyes was she to say those words to his face. He types and sends a reply before getting into his car. **Not a date. And it was great.**

Val gives him a smile as he fastens his seatbelt, putting his phone on the dashboard. As he begins driving, Jon feels like he needs to break the silence between them. He asks her for her address and she gives it to him but after that, it feels like there’s not much to talk about. Maybe he’s just really bad at starting conversations.

Val takes that upon herself to fix. “You’re from Winterfell, hm?”

Jon relaxes a bit. He loves talking about his home. “Yeah, I am.”

“I heard it’s really cold up there.”

“It is.”

“Not like King’s Landing,” she says, “It’s always so hot here.”

When a new message makes his phone beep again, Jon’s heart skips a beat at the idea of Val seeing it. He knows he’s being paranoid since she doesn’t know who Daenerys is but he can’t help it, his whole body growing taut. Val only briefly glances at his phone because of the interruption but she looks away, obviously not wanting to stare.

He resumes talking nonchalantly. “Yeah. Even worse for me, I’m still not used to the heat,” he tells her.

“I can’t imagine growing up in a place like Winterfell,” Val says, chuckling. “Seriously, how can you even stand the cold?”

“I could ask you the same,” he huffs. “Only good about the heat is you can go to the beach. Otherwise, it’s just a hellhole.”

Val laughs at that.

When his phone chirps again—twice, Jon’s knees twitch nervously. “It must be my dad,” he blurts out, not fully comprehending why he feels the need to provide some sort of explanation as if Val could somehow guess this is one of his pupils texting him. He’s not taking the risk. Jon takes one of his hands off the steering wheel to grab his phone, clicking the small button on the side to switch it to silent mode and then shoving it in his pocket for good measure.

“Your dad texts you a lot?” she asks, sounding amused.

Jon nods. “Yes. He and I are very close,” he lies. Well, they are close but Ned is a horrible texter. Jon had to explain how video calls work at least seven times before the old man got the hang of it.

“That’s so sweet,” Val says softly. “I’m very close to my parents too.”

When he pulls up in her street, the sun is setting and Val turns to him with a wide grin. “Thanks, Jon.” She takes him aback with a simple gesture, placing her hand on his arm.

He looks down at her hand and back to her eyes, not quite grasping what this means. Her eyes are undecipherable but warm. “No problem,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t sound awkward. “Goodnight, Val.”

She retracts her hand, nodding and murmuring the words back to him.

When she leaves, he exhales lengthily.

His hand unwittingly digs into his pocket, taking out his phone, his curiosity taking over.

He opens the three texts he got from Daenerys.

**Did you think of me at your not-a-date?**

**Did you think about being buried inside of me? Because I can’t stop thinking about how good you felt inside of me. ;)**

**Until the next time, I guess my fingers will have to do.**

Jon’s face grows hot at the last two messages, re-reading the sentences until he feels breathless, a familiar tightening in his groin at just the thought of being inside of her, how good and snug she felt clamped down around him. And even worse is the thought of her pleasuring herself, thinking about him.

 _Fuck,_ he thinks as he starts the engine, the unbidden images flooding his mind causing warmth to spread down his neck and along his spine, _what did I get myself into?_

△▼

In the end, it seems Daenerys does always end up getting what she wants. Even now sitting in his class, she can’t quite believe the events of yesterday.

Jon’s mouth is moving to explain something boring about the history of Valyria but all she can think of is the fact that this same mouth had been on hers, and then her neck and sucking at the pulse on her throat. It felt so good. _He_ felt so good. His hands were strong and rough when they mapped out every inch of her skin and his plump lips fitted against hers perfectly, his tongue intertwining with her own in a passionate dance that made her all weak and fuzzy inside.

Daenerys dutifully takes down notes as he goes on with his explanation because as beautifully distracting as he is, she still wants to pass this class. It’s one of her easiest. But it does get tricky. His voice changes when he speaks Valyrian, she’s noticed. It gets huskier. _But not as husky as when he whispered, “You’re so pretty,” in your ear._

She bites her lip at the vivid memory, clenching her thighs closed underneath the table. Even now there’s a faint dull between her legs, a feeble reminder of what it felt like to have his cock filling her to the hilt and _gods,_ the way he groaned into her hair or how his pretty lips wrapped around her breasts, teasing her nipples—

“Miss Targaryen?”

She looks up suddenly, blinking. The thoughts disappear when she realises that everyone is staring at her, including Jon Snow. Loras snickers to her left. She meets her professor’s unwavering, dark gaze. Her heart gives a dangerous thud. “Yes?” Since when did her voice get so squeaky?

“Are you going to answer the question?” he asks, voice deep and eyes penetrating her soul.

Daenerys smiles hesitantly. “Um, I think I'll pass. Maybe the next one,” she says lightly, earning a few chuckles from the people around her.

Jon gives her a heated, tense look but Dany can almost see the ghost of a smile on his stern, pouting mouth as if he knows very well he just caught her in the middle of a sex dream sequence about him. If she didn’t know better, she’d think Jon asked her that question _just_ to perturb her. “Try paying more attention,” he tells her casually before going back to his lecture.

 _He_ wants to tease her? The thought amuses Dany. He doesn’t know what he just started.

When Jon sits down and asks them to go over the next pages of their book, Daenerys slips her phone out of her bag and decides to let him know the exact reason why she was so distracted. Just looking at their previous texts makes her laugh, she was viciously forward with him and he skittered around the sexual messages, bidding her goodnight like the proper man he is.

She lifts her head to see Jon typing intently on his laptop at his desk, his phone just next to him.

**Do you wish to know why I was not paying attention to what you were saying? I was just thinking about how hot you sounded when you were moaning my name in your car while you were fucking me. So much better than listening to you speak about Valyria or whatever.**

It’s not _too_ sexual, is it?

But she still leans forward on her elbows, watching discreetly as his phone screen lights up next to him. Jon glances to his right, picks it up and reads her message. For a few seconds, his expression remains unchanged—stony and unflinching. And then he shifts in his seat, his throat moving with a hard swallow before those gorgeous eyes of his pin her down with a molten look, his gaze holding both a warning and a predatory glint that she adores.

As a slow smile spreads across her lips, he looks away from her rapidly. Daenerys chuckles quietly to herself.

Loras clears his throat to catch her attention.

“What?” she asks, looking over at him.

He narrows his eyes at her suspiciously. “Who were you texting?”

Daenerys raises an eyebrow. “Who are you, my mother?” she retorts, aware that it sounds childish.

Loras scowls at her. “And now you’re getting defensive.”

“I’m not.”

His suspicious gaze grows harder. “There’s something going on with you.”

“Whatever that means?”

“You’ve been acting strange since this morning.”

Daenerys twirls the ends of her hair. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she mumbles.

“You’re playing with your hair. You do that when you’re lying.”

She presses her lips in a thin line. He knows her too well. She stops doing that, clasping her hands in front of her and giving him a sweet smile. “I’ll…tell you later.”

Loras’ pointed look dissolves just a bit as he mutters, “You better.”

Daenerys remembers her promise to Jon, that no one would ever find out about what they did, and she intends to keep it. But now she’ll have to find a way to lie to her best friend.

△▼

Dany promised Margaery she would visit her hair saloon in the afternoon. That was two weeks ago.

When they arrive at the building today, after having taken a public bus that drove as slowly as an old woman walking down a park, Loras warns her about his sister’s fury. “She’s pissed you didn’t come on the opening day,” he informs her as they cross the street. “And even more pissed that you didn’t in the next two weeks either.”

“I’ve noticed,” Daenerys grumbles. Marge has been ignoring her text messages for a few days now and was posting weird quotes about fake friends on all her social media accounts. Dany found her friend’s exaggerated anger funny at first but now that she is about to face her, she knows there won’t be anything amusing about Margaery’s wrath. “You know how busy I’ve been. Whenever my dad’s in town, it’s like that.”

“Well you know she's a bit of a psycho so just get ready, really,” he answers, laughing at the horror across her features as he pushes the main door open.

This place suits Margaery’s style. There's truly no better way for Daenerys to describe it. From the floral wallpapers to the colourful tiles and the bright purple lights lining the mirrors. “Wow,” she breathes out, feeling proud of her friend’s hard work. She knows how much of her heart Margaery put in this place.

“Sister,” Loras calls out in a mocking tone. “I brought your best friend.”

Daenerys hears Margaery’s heels before she sees her. And when she appears in a cute little summer dress, her hair held back in a ponytail, Dany gives her a big grin. But her eyes spit fire back as she opens her mouth to growl out, “You _bitch_!”

Daenerys laughs. “I’m sorry! I know I was supposed to come last week—”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“—But I swear, I was so busy and if I could find some time, I would’ve come. You know that.”

Marge crosses her arms over her chest, frowning.

Dany slowly approaches her. “Can I get a hug before you kill me?” she asks slowly.

Finally, her best friend cracks. With a vanquished sigh, her glare softens and she opens her arms for Daenerys. “I love it,” Daenerys tells her during their embrace. “It's so pretty and couldn’t have been more _you_.”

Margaery beams. “Right? I knew you’d love it! But my dumbass of a brother thinks the lights are too extra.”

“They are,” Dany admits, “But I think that suits you.”

Loras rolls his eyes at the exchange. 

“I want to do something on your hair,” exclaims Margaery. “Please!”

Although Dany doesn’t particularly think she needs a new cut, seeing the spark in her friend's eyes and hearing the giddy excitement in her voice melts away her resolve so she finds herself nodding, taking a seat in one of the high styling chairs.

Daenerys leans back against the headrest as Margaery begins combing through her hair, spraying on some hair products.

She revels in the peaceful silence until Loras’ voice cuts through it, “So, are you going to tell me what was up with you in class earlier?”

Daenerys tries not to let her surprise show. Margaery is the one who asks, “What are we talking about?”

“Dany,” Loras drawls, “is clearly hiding something from me since yesterday.”

Daenerys sighs heavily. “Fine.” She wets her lips with a swipe of her tongue and announces, “I’ve been seeing a guy.”

Margaery lets out a gasp. “Now that’s what I wanna hear! I was getting tired of single Dany.”

“I’m still very much single,” Daenerys groans. “I just…met this boy.” She cringes to herself internally. “And we went out yesterday.” _We fucked. Like animals._ “And it was great.” _It’s sort of problematic but I don’t want to stop._ “That’s literally it. I don’t know why Loras is making a big deal out of it.”

“Ignore my brother. I’m happy you’re seeing some—”

“If it was really that simple, why didn’t you just tell me?” Loras butts in, his voice still filled with suspicion.

Dammit. Margaery is easier to fool than him.

“Because it’s none of your business,” Daenerys answers, glaring at him through the mirror. “He’s quite a…reserved man. He values privacy.”

Loras hums dubiously. “What’s his name?”

Dany blinks. And blurts out the first name that comes to her head, “Daemon.”

“Daemon and Daenerys,” Margaery sighs dreamily. “It fits perfectly.”

Dany grimaces at her friend who’s always been a helpless, hopeless romantic. 

As Margaery straightens her long silver curls, she states, “Well, I think it’s good that you’re back in the dating world. How long has it been since your last boyfriend?”

Daenerys remembers Daario from her last year in high school. Gods, that boy was annoying. Everything she hated about high school boys. Arrogant, idiotic and so full of himself it physically hurt to be in his presence. But he was hot and the sex was good, what else could she ask for? And when she broke up with him through a text message, he told everyone that he was the one who got bored of her. Daenerys would’ve fixed those rumours if she found it in herself to give a fuck.

Daenerys frowns at the realisation. “I don’t know if I’ve even had a real boyfriend,” she confesses.

“My point!” Marge presses. “Maybe this Daemon guy will be the one you’ll want to settle down with.”

“Yeah, I highly doubt so,” Daenerys says, snorting at the idea.

Of course, Margaery wouldn’t think so either if she knew this Daemon guy is Jon Snow, her professor and definitely not someone to consider for a long-term relationship. Hells, she’s not even certain that they are going to hook up again. He’s abstained himself from replying to her text messages and as seductive as she can be, she isn’t desperate enough to _beg_ for a second time.

Still, Daenerys has been glancing at her phone every now and then ever since she left his class. It annoys her, really, her inability to get him out of her head. She got what she wanted but instead of that satisfying her, it ignited something deeper within her. She feels like a teenager waiting on her crush to text her back, her heart leaping every time she gets a new notification alert and then dropping dangerously low when she doesn’t see Jon’s name.

She thought she read him clearly. She thought he wanted more, too. But a part of her knows that’s not the problem. He may want her still but his honour is probably the only thing stopping him from acting on his desires. As if men aren’t complicated enough, she had to go for one who is even more unattainable and difficult to understand, someone who has a different mindset than hers. A more appropriate one, that is.

“So, what do you think?”

Dany looks up from the magazine she picked up while Margaery did her hair to look in the mirror. “It’s great,” she comments, lightly touching the top of her head where her hair has been styled in a crown of intricate braids, the rest falling down to her back, straightened and no longer wavy. “Thank you, Marge. I’m sorry I couldn’t be your first client.”

Her friend pouts slightly at that. “I can forgive you, I guess,” she says, “As long as you’re going to tell me everything about this boy.”

Daenerys’ smile begins to fade before she catches herself. “I will,” she promises, giving her one last goodbye hug before she leaves with Loras.

He, on the other hand, still doesn’t seem to buy it.

“Where did you two meet?” he asks.

“At the bar,” she replies, trying not to nervously touch the tips of her hair. “The Dragonpit, I mean.”

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask more questions but his lack of response worries Daenerys. While Margaery and Loras are both her closest friends, he’s always been better at noticing small things about her and Daenerys absolutely needs what happened with Jon to remain a secret. She trusts Loras with her whole heart but who knows how this piece of information could slip in the wrong ears? The safest route is for no one to find out.

Surprised would be an understatement to describe what Daenerys feels when she checks her phone and sees one unread message from the man who’s been on her mind all day. Her steps falter momentarily, her heartbeat also losing balance as she taps on it.

**Are you free this evening?**

And below that, his address.

It’s not until Loras says, “What is it, Daemon again?” that she realises she’s stopped walking and has been staring at her phone with an idiotic smile on her face for a few seconds now.

Daenerys bites the insides of her cheeks to stop herself from grinning as she nods at him. He looks perplexed and if she didn’t know him better, she could even mistake that look for jealousy. She had once thought that, a long time ago when they were still teenagers and she was crushing on a popular kid in school, a basketball player. Loras insisted on Dany staying away from that boy but she didn’t listen. She accused him of being jealous and they had their first (and probably last) big fight.

It was only when she went on a date with that guy did she discover that he was a disgusting boy who just wanted to have sex with her, and had done the same thing with many girls from school. It was also that night when she drove to the Tyrells and went up to Loras’ room to apologise to him, to let him know that he was right, that she found him with a boy on his bed—kissing.

Daenerys had been so shocked by the discovery that she backed out of the room in a rush and he followed her just as quickly, catching up with her before she could leave. Loras seemed demoralised by her reaction and with tears in his eyes, told her that he’d understand if she no longer wished to be friends with him. That never happened. Once the surprise died down, they reconciled almost immediately and she assured him that she loved him just as much and would never support him less because of his sexual orientation. 

If anything, that assured her of Loras’ intentions when he tries to get her to stay away from certain boys. She used to be afraid that he developed feelings for her and that this would ruin their friendship because she didn’t feel the same but since then she’s learned that his motives are always driven by his brotherly love and care for her wellbeing. “I’ll always protect you like I protect Margaery,” he’d told her once and Dany has kept those words in her heart in perpetuity.

So, now, his growing suspicion about ‘Daemon’ doesn’t surprise Daenerys.

“What, I can’t have fun now?” she asks him reproachfully.

“I never said that,” retaliates Loras. “I just feel like you’re not being entirely truthful about whoever this guy is.”

Dany swallows the bitter taste of guilt that rises in her throat. “I’m telling you all you need to know.” She smiles. “I swear. Plus I’m just having some fun with him.” It’s true, she and Jon are about to have _a lot_ of fun, her insides tingling in sweet anticipation at just the idea of having his hands and mouth on her again.

“Sure…. But you just love getting into trouble,” Loras says, sighing, “One of these days it’ll get you hurt.”

△▼

Jon has never paced so much in his life.

The last time he remembers pacing back and forth while anxiety rose in his chest was the day he awaited his university results. He had been a wreck then and yet, it seems nothing compared to how nervous he is right now, in his apartment, walking to the front door and back to the living room _repeatedly_ until he begins to feel dizzy.

He can’t help it. Any time now, she is going to knock on his door. And what the fuck is he going to do?

Gods, why did he think this was a remotely good idea?

He was doing fine. Got back from uni, had a nice and hot shower to wash away the stress of the day and then sat down at his desk to get some work done. It was all good until, for some unknown reasons, he thought of _her_. 

It was a mere flashback. A glimpse of silver hair, the memory of pale violet eyes meeting his. And then he was back in his car, his hips snapping to meet hers and soft, sweet sounds escaping her parted kiss-bruised lips.

Then one thing led to another. He thought of the way she was looking at him during class and how she shamelessly told him what she was thinking, making it hard for him to concentrate on anything _educational_ for the rest of the day. She was right when she said he was in denial because he was. He wants Daenerys, _a lot_ , and the implications of that scare him endlessly.

So, he tried not to think about it for the rest of the day. Tried to completely block out his moment of weakness in his car from his brain, hoping that if he pretended it never occurred then it would help him move forward and ignore his toxic impulses when it came to her.

But none of that worked.

Desire doesn’t abide to the rules and Jon would learn that when he failed to distract himself from thoughts of Daenerys when he was alone at home—there were no classes or colleagues to help him think of something else, _anything_ else. When his mind drifted back to her, he knew all hope was lost and he took out his phone and gave in to the temptation. Again.

Finally, his misery comes to an end (or a beginning) when the doorbell rings.

He only now realises he’s never had people over here, except for the mailman and some delivery people, and even the sound of his doorbell is unfamiliar to him. Shaking off these thoughts, he makes his way to the door and takes in a deep breath before opening it.

The sight of her causes his heartbeat to stutter. Just one look is enough to scatter his thoughts. Jon tries to think of one time a woman has ever reduced him to such a hopeless mess but he can’t. Not even Ygritte, whom he’d dated longer than anyone else, drove him this insane. He loved her, yes, but there was never this fire that exists between him and Dany who is practically—or, literally—a stranger.

Daenerys pounces on him.

He’s never been greeted like _that_ in his life, that’s for sure. A strangled sound escapes him when her mouth crashes on his, her arms locking around his neck to bring him down. His whole body seems to melt for her, encircling her, pulling her closer until there is not even a layer of air between them. He kisses her back just as eagerly, tongue swiping against her lips and she opens her mouth for him, letting him taste what he wants.

There he was a few minutes ago, wondering what he was going to say to her or how to explain why he’d invited her over but the frantic need between them needs no further explanation or pointless excuses, it seems, as he slowly backs her against the door to shut it, his lips never once parting from hers.

When her back hits the door with a hard thud, she pulls away with a gasp.

Jon didn’t even realise he had pushed her against it, perhaps a bit too hard, so he immediately begins to apologise, “I’m sor—”

She cuts him off with a deep kiss and then tugs at his bottom lip with her teeth, making him groan against her mouth. She smiles. “I don’t mind roughness, Snow. I’d probably encourage it.”

The words whispered against his lips make his cock twitch. He entertains the thought of being rough with her, different images flashing in his head: pounding into her from behind, tugging at her silver hair, making her scream his name…. Taken aback by the dark thoughts, he kisses her again. Slower this time.

Daenerys doesn’t seem to like slow, attentive kisses. Her kisses are fierce and bold, just like her. She runs her hands through his hair and grinds herself against him, Jon breaking off just to collect himself. He is hard for her, had been halfway there ever since he began thinking about her. He almost wants to ask her how she does this to him with such little effort.

He takes a moment to look at her and frowns. “What happened to your hair?” he asks, breathless.

She quirks her brows at the random query. “Why, you don’t like it?” she retorts.

She is gorgeous. With straight or curly hair. And the braids make her look like some sort of goddess that he shouldn’t be touching but if he is to be honest, he likes it better when her hair is loose so he can bury his fingers in the mass of soft platinum curls. Jon only kisses her as an answer, his hand moving from her waist to the back of her dress where he pulls at the zipper. Daenerys hums approvingly against his mouth as he works to get her pretty blue dress off.

“My room,” he begins.

“No. Too far,” she breathes out, “Fuck me here. Somewhere.”

His room isn’t that far away but instead of arguing, he finds her idea much more appealing. Jon guides them to the desk on which he works. He detaches his mouth from hers to get rid of his laptop and important papers and then he is back on her, kissing her as a man starved. Hands twist and fly to get rid of their clothes and Jon helps her get on top of the hard surface, her legs spreading for him.

He presses his forehead against hers, breathing laborious, as he stares down at her. He could literally pull a chair to sit down and just admire how gorgeous she is in all her glorious nakedness—the dragons inked onto her pale skin glowing with perspiration, her nipples rosy and erect and her cunt bare and slick with want.

Gods help him. He’s already been having trouble concentrating on work but now, he doubts he’ll get any work done here in the future with the image of a very naked Daenerys sitting on his desk waiting for him to fuck her in mind.

He gets brought back to reality by her hands wrapping around his rigid length, eliciting a drawn-out moan from him as she gives him a few pumps, her thumb swiping across the weeping head. She looks like pure _sin,_ her beautiful violet eyes staring deeply into his own, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth as she works her hands along his cock. He wonders how her hot mouth would feel on him. His length twitches at that thought.

Later.

Right now, he needs to be inside of her.

He wraps an arm around her waist to pull her to the edge of the table while the other pushes her legs further apart. Jon looks down at him plunging into her, slipping easily past her soaked nether lips, immediately engulfed by her tight heat.

They both shudder at the feeling. Nothing compares to this thing between them. When his grey eyes meet hers, he knows she senses it too. He pulls out and back in again—forcefully.

He gasps and she whimpers, leaning back onto her elbows as she watches him take her. Watches the way his cock disappears into her sweet cunt.

“Jon,” she cries out when he slams into her. Again and again. His pelvis making contact with her swollen clit, the friction making her groan and whimper.

She pulls him down to her, fingers clutching at the damp curls at the nape of his neck. He bites down on her shoulder to contain his growls as he pounds into her, her legs wrapping around him, digging into his ass to encourage him. There’s a fine line between desperation and savagery and they have crossed it at some point because there is no other way to describe them fucking other than animalistic now, her nails raking up and down his back, leaving sharp tingles of pain behind, his hips slapping into hers to the point that he is sure it’s painful for her, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs hard enough to leave red imprints, her other hand tugging at his hair as she cries out through her orgasm and he follows, his thrusts growing slower but not less ferocious.

“Wow, that was….” She exhales heavily, trailing off as they both try to come down from their highs. “Thank gods I checked my phone for this.”

He would have laughed if he had the energy to do so.

△▼

She brushes her fingers through her (now, completely ruined—which she won’t tell Margaery) hair, watching in amusement as he tries to adjust his own. She’s made it an utter mess, raven curls springing in every direction—and she’s completely unapologetic about it. “So, we’re really doing _this_?” she speaks up.

Jon looks at her and blinks. “Doing…?”

“Fucking,” she deadpans.

She sees him wince the slightest. “Sorry,” she blurts.

“No, you’re right. It’s…what we’re doing, I guess.” Jon exhales and runs a hand over his face.

Daenerys senses his discomfort. “I suppose you don’t do this a lot, then. Casual sex.”

“Not with a student,” he answers. And then mutters, “Yeah…not at all, actually.”

She finds his shyness cute. It just makes her want to _corrupt_ him even more. “I’m twenty-one, you know. Not a teenager. The word 'student' isn't that bad when you see it from this perspective.”

“I’m still your professor.”

“Yeah but just pretend we met in a bar and started fucking,” she suggests.

Jon’s lips twitch. “I’m not sure my employers will want to pretend if they find out,” he drawls.

She chuckles. “They won’t find out.” At a sudden idea, she exclaims, “Alright! Let’s set some rules.”

He looks at her quizzically.

She pats the spot next to her on the sofa on which she’s sitting. Jon stares at her sceptically before obliging, taking a seat next to her. Daenerys tries to focus on the task ahead and not on his cologne or the way his lips still look swollen from her kisses. “The first one is we don’t tell anyone about this. As long as this stays between us, the chances of people finding out are very slim,” she declares.

Jon nods carefully. “And we don’t do anything inside or anywhere near the university.”

“That’s easy.”

“Really?” he asks, looking into her eyes. “We kissed in there. And you sent me that—that very vulgar message during class.”

She bites back a grin at the way his cheeks brighten when saying those words. “Fine,” she agrees, “From now on you and I will only be a professor and a student in Aegon’s Hill. Other rules?”

Jon thinks about it for a second before shaking his head. “I don’t think so. You?”

“Yes, two.” She breathes in deeply. “First of all, this needs to stop if you start seeing someone on the outside. Or me, for that matter.”

“Of course,” he quickly says, “That would be cheating.”

She nods. “Right. We might not be together but the last thing I need is to complicate my life with girlfriend or boyfriend problems,” she says with a snort.

“If either one of us starts seeing someone, we’ll put an end to it,” he reaffirms. “And what’s the other rule?”

Daenerys’ lips curl in a sinful smirk. “At least two orgasms per meeting.”

Jon’s eyes darken instantly and she finally pays attention to how close they’re sitting, faces only inches from each other. When his gaze drops to her mouth, she instinctively parts her lips, beckoning him closer. “That sounds reasonable,” he murmurs.

She closes the gap between them, thrusting her tongue inside his mouth and the groan he releases ignites the fire in her belly. Jon, she’s learned, is an attentive lover. She could have liked that—and she’s sure many women do—if he was her boyfriend and he was taking the time to learn the way she responds to him. But this is not their situation so she wishes he’d stop kissing her so slowly and passionately as if he could spend a lifetime doing just that and be satisfied, and start being more frantic and needy.

While other men have tried to meet her fire with their own, Jon seems more interested in extinguishing the flames, the slow strokes of his tongue against hers and the way his hands gently caress her lower back and waist are things she’s not used to. And she’s afraid she might like them just a bit too much.

Needing to have power, she ends up straddling his lap. Pulling away from Jon, she watches in amusement as he tries to kiss her again only to be pushed away by her hands pressed against his chest, accidentally feeling the way his heart is pounding against his ribcage. When she begins kissing his neck, playfully biting down on the flesh, Jon’s hands on her waist tighten their grip. “Stop that,” he gruffly says, “It’ll leave a mark.”

“So?” she smiles against his skin. He smells _really_ good.

“You’re incorrigible,” he mutters before he digs his fingers into her hair, angling her face back to his so he can capture her lips again in a languid kiss that makes her throb with desire.

Daenerys is too lost in the kiss to realise they’re changing positions. It’s only when she feels herself being lowered onto the couch, her back dipping into the soft cushion that she breaks off the kiss, heavy puffs of air coming from her mouth as she looks up at him in confusion. Jon’s mouth is on her before she can question his intentions, kissing her from the corner of her mouth to the skin below her ear. His mouth trails fire from her throat to her collarbone and Dany sighs and writhes under his weight, wishing he’d stop fucking teasing her with that wicked mouth of his.

He finally begins lowering the straps of her dress and she helps him, desperate to get rid of any barriers between her heated skin and his full lips. She should curse him out for the way he fists her (very expensive) dress in his hands and carelessly tosses it aside but the curse and the rest of her coherent thoughts die down in her throat when his hands slide up and down her sides and his mouth returns to its journey, kissing and nipping its way down her chest.

She watches him attentively, her breathing pattern as messy as her mind. She can only see the top of his head, the hair she’d just previously messed up held back again with an elastic band, only a few curls being rebellious enough to escape. His pupils are blown wide as he stares down at her body and she cannot even bring herself to feel somewhat self-conscious under his scrutiny for he looks completely enthralled by her and she is only further aroused by that awed expression. 

In a daze, she unclasps her bra and he helps her get it off before she falls back down, at his mercy. Jon latches his mouth to her right breast while his fingers strum and play with the other nipple. Her back arches from the sofa, an embarrassingly loud moan escaping her bruised lips when she feels his teeth lightly, teasingly scrape the little nub until it pluckers in a tight bud. Daenerys closes her eyes at the overstimulation, wondering if any man has ever turned her into such a mess with just a few touches and kisses before.

Jon switches from one breast to the other, giving each equal amounts of attention until they are bruised and moist from his mouth. He’s giving her beard burns everywhere, soon her porcelain skin will be reddened from what he's doing but she can’t, for the life of her, bring herself to care.

He is intent on driving her out of her mind. His slow kisses down her stomach prove that, his strong hands holding her hips in place as she tries to wriggle out of his grasp and get him exactly where she needs him.

Lust mixed with anger and frustration, Daenerys growls when he reaches her navel and peppers the skin with sweet kisses. “Jon,” she says in what she intended to be a warning tone but ends up sounding like a pitiful whine.

His head settles between her thighs, not even acknowledging her. Jon throws her legs over his shoulders, kneeling next to the couch so he can have better access. Daenerys’ cheeks grow warm at just how wet she is and the knowledge that he can most definitely see that—and smell it, the heady scent of her filling the thick air around them. But her embarrassment is short-lived when he begins kissing the insides of her thighs, his coarse beard chafing the sensitive skin. She mewls, hands grasping blindly at the leather sofa, her legs crossing around his neck. She is going to kill this man for doing this to her, she swears it to the old gods and the new.

Jon inches closer to her aching core, his nose nudging against her panties and she gasps when he inhales. “Fuck, you smell so good,” he mumbles, “May I?”

She looks down at him incredulously. “Yes!” she yells. “I swear if you _don’t_ stop fucking teasing me—”

In a swift motion, he pulls down the soaked garment and she is bare and open to him, her cries of protest cut off by his mouth covering her cunt the next second, swallowing her whole. A shattered cry leaves her. She didn't expect the quiet man with the rather cold exterior to _devour_ her like this, like a famished wolf. His tongue runs along her soaked folds, collecting the wetness he and his wicked mouth are responsible for.

He moans against her, alternating between sucking and licking, and she’s keening so loud that she knows his walls aren’t thick enough to stop his neighbours from hearing. She doesn’t care and neither does he seem to mind, if anything he seems so lost in giving her pleasure that it only heightens her arousal. His eyes are closed, head buried between her legs and his mouth working tirelessly to bring her over the edge, firm hands holding her thighs open for him to feast on her. 

When he releases one hand to snake a finger inside of her tight, sopping cunt, Daenerys lets out a noise she didn’t know was humanly possible. His tongue flicks over her clit, encircling the sensitive nub before sucking it into his mouth greedily while his finger pumps in and out of her heat, adding a second one, curling the digits to hit _that_ spot, his pace increasing until—

“Yes!” she shrieks, seeing bright stars behind her eyelids, her walls fluttering and trembling against the invasion of his slender fingers, her whole body pulsating during her release.

Jon soothes her while he comes down, his palms gliding over her thighs, his mouth pressing feather-light kisses on the sensitive areas. When he lets her legs fall from his shoulders, she stays glued to his couch—boneless and exhausted as she tries to catch her breath.

“Well,” he begins, wiping at his now soaked beard with the back of his hand, “I hope that satisfies the last rule.”

△▼

Daenerys hopes there’s some sort of scientific proof that good sex makes someone’s mood better. If there isn’t then she might have to be the one to prove that.

It’s been two weeks since this _thing_ with Jon began and she’s never felt better in her life. That may be an exaggeration but she maintains her point. So far, they haven’t come across any complications. It only happened seven times in total, seven times in fourteen days when they were free at the same time and met up to have filthy, mindblowing sex. Five of those were in his apartment and the other two times they didn’t make it out of his car. But at least his backseat is comfortable to have sex on.

They’ve even managed to keep their relationship at university strictly professional. Except, sure there were times she totally imagined him fucking her against that whiteboard or on the table, but these thoughts never left her head and she has remained a perfectly innocent student on the exterior.

“If I was you,” Loras tells her this Friday morning as they walk to their first class, “I’d drop out.”

She laughs. “Why’re you saying that?”

“If I had a rich father who wanted me to take over one of his numerous businesses, you’d never see me in this shithole.”

“Is it so bad that I wanted to do something for myself?”

“Yeah. It’s dumb.”

“Why are you being moody again?”

“I don’t know. I just hate Fridays. I have the worst fucking classes,” he answers in aggravation. 

Daenerys chuckles, shaking her head until she looks back in front of her and her amusement evaporates at the sight of Jon Snow and that girl he’s always with. Val, he told Dany her name was once when they were having sex and she was calling him.

“You have a thing for blondes,” Dany had joked that day.

He shook his head. “She’s just my friend,” he told her even if she never asked.

And it’s quite obvious that Jon is either unaware that this woman is completely smitten by him or he just likes to deny it. 

“Looks like Snow’s getting some action,” mumbles Loras as they walk past the pair. Only briefly does Jon look in her direction but before she can detect some sort of reaction, she looks away, remembering the rule about how they should be strangers at uni.

“Yeah,” Daenerys says, hoping she sounds nonchalant about it.

“Remember when you wanted to fuck him on his first day?”

 _Oh but I did. Multiple times now._ She hides a smirk and sighs defeatedly. “Not all dreams come true,” she states, pouting in an exaggerated manner.

Loras snorts. “Well, at least you know he’s into blondes,” he muses.

Daenerys forces a smile, deciding to ignore the twist in her chest at the words.

△▼

Jon walks into his empty classroom, humming to a song that has been stuck in his head all day long, making his way to the table where he puts down all of his stuff so he can prepare his next lecture.

That is, until someone says, “What song is that?”

“Seven hells!” he startles, looking up at Daenerys who is seated on her usual chair in the back of the room. Except there’s no one here now. So, she shouldn’t be here either.

She only smiles at his evident shock.

“It’s,” he pauses, checking his watch, “barely nine-thirty. We don’t have class until ten, what are you doing here?”

“Just came to see my favourite professor,” she answers, her voice light and playful—two things which Jon is not feeling currently. Anxious is what he is. Unnerved by her presence.

“I think you’re kind of biased about that,” he allows himself to joke before shaking his head. “Seriously. What are you doing here?”

She stands up and makes her way down to him, his eyes unwittingly dancing across her form wrapped up in a cute, simple thigh-length red dress. Her long hair is held up in a ponytail which is a rare hairstyle for her, he’s noted that she prefers complex braids or to just let those silver curls hang loose.

Doesn’t mean she’s any less gorgeous now. She’s never _not_ gorgeous, it seems.

“I’ve missed you,” she says slyly, approaching him slowly, her hands tucked behind her back.

They haven’t seen each other in two days outside of Aegon’s Hill, only because Daenerys told him she wouldn’t be free. He doubts she’s _missed_ him but he has to admit that he’s thought of her, a lot, during those two days. He doesn’t know what to make of that. Narrowing his eyes at her, he says, “You’re the one who was busy.” Gods, does he sound like an annoyed boyfriend? _Boyfriend_?!

“I really was,” she sighs. “I had to get some stuff done for my dad and then yesterday I went to a party.”

“Hope you had fun.”

“I did,” she confirms, “Although I’ve missed _our_ fun.”

She’s close enough for him to smell her now. He’s become accustomed to the two perfumes she usually wears, one that smells of something flowery and light and the other has an expensive, citrusy scent. She’s wearing the former today. When she trails a perfectly manicured finger down his grey tie, Jon shifts on his feet. “Daenerys. Remember the rule?”

“Fuck the rule,” she whispers against his lips, her breath so sweet and warm that he leans in inadvertently, his eyelids slowly dropping. “You said it yourself. Nobody will be here for at least another ten to twenty minutes.”

Although he knows that’s true he should still insist on this being a bad idea but then she is kissing his neck and, well, what’s he supposed to do—resist her? Jon grabs her face in his hands, looking into pale eyes for a second before kissing her. It’s only been two days but it feels like forever since he’s had his mouth on hers and whatever consequences their reckless desire might have is the farthest thing on his mind when her tongue slides against his. It’s more thrilling in a way. It shouldn’t be. It should scare him but it excites him, makes his blood roar.

“So,” she whispers against his lips as she fumbles with his belt, “I see you and Val are quite close, hm?”

He holds her by the back of her neck to trail kisses down her throat, knowing just where to bite to elicit that breathless moan from her. _There._ “Why are you asking?” he inquires, confused.

“Just like that. Was two days away from me enough to ask her out?”

Jon smiles against her neck and pulls away to look at her, one eyebrow raised in question. “If I didn’t know better,” he tells her, “I’d say you sound quite jealous.”

The sharp look he receives for that and her hand slipping inside of his pants to grip his cock silence him. “Daener—” His voice breaks as she sinks on her knees in front of him, her darkened gaze looking up at him innocently as she takes him out of the tight confines of his pants.

“What are you doing?” he hisses at her, clenching his teeth when she wraps her small hands around his length which is already throbbing for her.

“Making up for the lost time,” she answers with a wink and before he can utter another word, her mouth engulfs his thick, swollen head.

Jon mutters a curse under his breath, his body and mind at war with each other. Inside his head, he knows this is wrong and _dangerous._ His eyes fly to the door where anyone can walk in at any moment now. Perhaps a student wants to come in early or a professor needs to talk to him and he can’t even begin to imagine what would happen then.

But his body is treacherous when it comes to her. Every nerve ending is ignited with lust, the way she strokes his shaft languidly and bobs her head is driving him to the brinks of insanity, losing himself completely in her magic. It starts out slow but she picks up pace eventually, taking more and more of him until his member is coated with saliva and he groans, unable to stop it the build-up in his stomach.

“Please,” he begs, his knees almost buckling when he feels his cock tickle the back of her throat, Daenerys’ hands digging into his thighs to steady herself to take him even deeper in the hot depths of her mouth.

It’s the worst time to think of his father, really, but the slurping sounds she’s making around him are so _dirty_ and what they’re doing is so beyond inappropriate that Jon can’t help but think about how disgusted his father would be at this instant. Jon Snow grew up in a strict household where values and principles were of the utmost importance. So he wonders what his father, his _honourable_ father, would think of him right now if he could see the way Daenerys Targaryen was on her knees with his son's cock in her mouth, approximately ten minutes before they are supposed to be in this exact classroom as professor and student.

Perhaps that makes him sicker but the thought only makes him drive his cock deeper in her mouth, desire completely fogging his senses. His right hand drops to her head, caressing her soft hair. He wishes she’d let her hair loose today so she could wrap those silver curls around his fist to fuck her sweet mouth harder.

His hips notch towards her head as she sucks on him harder and faster, all while holding his gaze mischievously. Jon has to close his eyes because it’s _too_ much suddenly. The intensity of her look, the feeling of her tongue swirling across the purple head as she momentarily stops to lick him from root to tip teasingly.

When she begins taking him in her mouth again, he tries to warn her of his release, grunting out, “Stop—I’m going to— _gods_ , Daenerys—”

But she only moans, holding him at the base as she forces his entire length inside again, hitting the back of her throat as she urges him to fuck her mouth. One, two and three hard thrusts later he’s spilling into her mouth, her name falling repeatedly from his lips in breathless gasps.

He finally opens his eyes when she releases him with an obscene wet pop, swallowing every drop of his cum, licking her lips as she stands up. The sight of her swollen mouth and wet chin would be enough to make him hard again if his body was capable to do so.

She grabs his left hand, turning it to her face so she can look at his watch. “You still got a few minutes to get ready,” she says, smiling at him. “I’m looking forward to this class, Mr Snow.”

△▼

“What happened at uni yesterday can _never_ happen again.”

“You worry too much.”

“And you worry too little! Gods, Daenerys, someone could’ve walked in….”

“But did they?”

“That’s not the point.”

Daenerys yawns, stretching her legs out leisurely as she watches him, mirth in her eyes. He’s making coffee for them in the kitchen while she is sprawled on his large couch which has turned into their favourite spot for sex. Jon loves coffee after sex, for some reasons. She prefers a cigarette. But right now she’s having a lot of fun listening to him rant about how fucked-up what they did was which is true, to be honest, but she can tick off ‘giving Jon Snow a blowjob in the classroom’ off her list of things she’s daydreamed about doing to him in that class now.

It’s late, almost nine p.m. on a Saturday. It was dumb to call him at such an hour but Loras and Margaery were out with their family and Dany felt lonely in her dorm with her roommate who doesn’t talk much. She considered just going out for a few drinks but Jon seemed like a better, sexier option.

And she was right.

Having Jon Snow reduce her to a screaming, writhing mess with _that_ thing he does with his tongue and then fucking her so good that she could not feel her legs afterwards is a much, much better way to end her Saturday night than dancing at the club.

“So what’s the point?” she asks, pulling the blanket over her naked body as she gazes at his bare back, the muscles rippling as he prepares their drinks.

“That we could’ve gotten caught,” he answers and makes his way back to her.

He sits down next to her, clad in only a pair of black shorts, and she doesn’t care for the coffee he is handing her—she wants him again. “Next time we’ll be more careful,” she promises innocently as she accepts the drink.

He shakes his head at her as he begins drinking. “There won’t be a next time anywhere near Aegon’s Hill.”

She frowns at him. “It’s not my fault you just look so sexywhen you wear ties. So formal.”

Jon chokes on his coffee and chuckles at her, her grin widening at his blush. “Is that a thing?” he asks, “Your weird obsession with ties.”

She hums reflectively. “Maybe that’s a kink that I’ve just discovered.”

“Really? A tie kink?”

“What? It’s hot. Many things you could do with it. Like tie my wrists as you fuck me or I could—”

Jon groans, “Fine, I get it.”

Daenerys throws her head back in laughter at his horrified expression. “You’re acting like I’m weird for this when foot fetishes, daddy kinks and many other worse one exist.”

Jon’s eyes grow wide. “What the hell is a daddy kink?”

Her jaw drops. “Oh, you’re too innocent for this.” Leaning forward, she can’t resist the urge to press a kiss on his pouting lips, his befuddled expression melting away as he kisses her back. He tastes like coffee. She pulls away with a giggle. “Don’t worry, we can go over all the kinks and find some you want to try.”

He blushes even more. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Nothing I say is ever a good idea,” she points out.

“Where are you going?” he asks as she stands up.

“A smoke,” she answers and rolls her eyes. “Please, save this judgmental look.”

“I’m not judging,” he tells her as he takes a long sip. “I’m just saying coffee’s better.”

She smiles at him. “It probably is,” she accepts but heads out with a cigarette and a lighter anyway.

△▼

For the first time in his life, Jon completely forgets that Saturday means group video call with his family when the clock strikes nine.

So when the time comes and his laptop chimes, he’s sitting on his sofa half-naked, drinking coffee after he just had sex with Daenerys. He wasn’t even thinking about his father and siblings until the very moment his laptop screen lights up and he receives the video call request.

“Shit,” he mutters to himself. “Shit, shit, shit.” In a hurry, he searches the living room for the t-shirt Daenerys had thrown aside in a frenzy earlier. He puts it on and begins looking for his hair tie which, again, she tugged at and tossed away. He finds it below the table. Jon tries to appear presentable and _not_ like he’s just fucked someone.

He hopes he hasn’t failed at that.

Sitting down, he puts on the calmest smile he can manage before answering. The three boxes pop-up immediately, one where Ned is sitting in his study, Sansa on her balcony and Robb in his bedroom.

“Hey,” Jon says.

They all greet each other in unison.

“What took you so long to answer?” inquires Sansa, adjusting her squared glasses.

“Was just finishing laundry,” Jon lies, holding back a cringe. “So, what have you guys been up to?”

“Busy with the engagement preparations,” answers Robb.

“We all know Talisa’s doing most of the work,” Sansa comments jokingly.

Jon chuckles. “Yeah, I think you’re giving yourself too much credit here.”

“How’s Aegon’s Hill treatin’ you?” Ned butts in.

“Great,” says Jon, “Really…it’s been amazing so far.”

“We’re proud of you,” Robb tells him to which Jon smiles. "I know we tell you that all the time but we really are."

“Who would’ve thought you’d fit in the South?” Sansa whistles. “Guess you’re not such a Northerner, hm?”

Jon rolls his eyes at his sister’s teasing voice. “That’s bullshit. You know I miss you guys more than anything.”

“Us or Arya?” Robb asks knowingly.

Jon feels a pang in his heart at the mention of his little sister’s name. He can almost picture her smile now and that missing tooth in the front that made her look adorable. That was ages ago, though, now she’s a teenager. But in his heart, she’ll always be his little Arya whose hair he loved to muss and whose laughter brightened his days. “Aye,” he admits, “She’s my favourite after all,” he teases.

Sansa feigns a look of offence. “Well, Robb has always been the better brother,” she states.

Robb laughs. “Exactly.”

Ned just sighs. “You guys are still like children.”

“Sansa,” Jon says, smiling, “When am I becoming an uncle?”

The red-haired girl blushes. “Um, I don’t know. Soon.” Her voice has turned shy and her smile girlish. “Theon and I are definitely planning to extend the family soon.”

“Amazing,” Ned gushes. “It’s about time I have grandchildren to look after. Especially grandsons.”

Jon is so lost in the conversation that he doesn’t hear the doorknob twisting behind him. He freezes when a feminine voice says, “So, we were talking about fetishes and— _oh._ ”

Jon looks behind him, eyes glued on a very confused Daenerys who is staring at him and his laptop. Reflex takes over as Jon lowers the screen, shielding the camera from Daenerys as he gives her a panicked look. “Go,” he mouths to her, pointing at the corridor that leads to his room.

She nods at him hurriedly, rushing to the other side of the room. Releasing a breath, Jon adjusts his laptop again. They’re all staring at him.

“Uh, we saw that,” Sansa informs him.

“I heard a girl,” Robb says.

“Me too.” Ned.

“I—” Jon clears the sudden dryness in his throat. “It was just my neighbour.”

“Your neighbour walks into your apartment now?” questions Sansa, always the smartest.

Jon feels his heart thud dramatically against his chest, dread singing a hazardous song in his veins. He laughs nervously, “Actually, it’s…”

“No need to explain, son,” his father interrupts.

Jon furrows his brow. “I don’t?”

“It’s good that you’re seeing someone,” Ned states.

Jon begins to object but he cuts him off once more, “Stop pulling his leg. Jon will tell us about the woman when he’s ready to do so. He’s not a kid.”

Jon shakes his head but Robb snorts. “So, you’re bringing her to my engagement, right?”

“Tell her to come say hi to us! We literally saw her,” Sansa pleads.

“Guys,” Jon snaps, silencing them all. In a calmer voice, he says, “It’s not what you think.” _It’s worse._ “It’s…nothing serious. Anyway, I have to go.”

He doesn’t wait for their reactions, disconnecting the call in a hurry. He'll make something up later. As he stares at the black screen, he lets out a long sigh. Jon gets up to find Daenerys, halting when he spots her looking at the pictures he’s hung on the wall next to his bedroom.

“Hey,” he says.

Daenerys jolts, looking at him sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t know you were talking to your….”

“Dad,” he finishes, “And siblings.”

“Ah.” She nods comprehensively.

“And now they think I have a girlfriend,” he sighs.

Her eyes are filled with mirth as he glares at her. “Don’t laugh,” he warns.

“I’m not,” she promises but chuckles anyway.

He leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest, jutting his chin in the direction of the picture she was just gazing at. “You wonderin’ who that is?”

She glances at the photo and back at him. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” she starts, “but _gods,_ your hair in this picture!”

Jon closes his eyes in embarrassment. “Please.”

“Oh, come on! It’s gorgeous. Look at those curls.”

“Stop,” he grunts out.

She shakes her head, her violet eyes sparkling in delight. After sex, Daenerys’ second favourite activity is teasing him endlessly, apparently. “You looked prettier than you do now, which I didn’t think was possible in any way—oh!” Jon has closed the distance between them on a whim, pinning her against the wall.

She exhales shakily, eyes darting between his as she chews on her lower lip. He gazes down at her mouth, loins stirring at the sight of her pearly teeth sinking into her plump, rosy lip. He lowers his mouth to hers, capturing that bottom lip between his own teeth in a firm tug that has her moaning wantonly against his mouth.

She sinks her fingers into her favourite spot, the curls at the base of his neck, pulling his face closer to hers as she kisses him. He can taste the smoke in her mouth and Jon _hates_ smoking yet he doesn’t find himself repulsed by the taste or smell. One hand clutches at her waist to hold her against the cold wall while the other one snakes under her dress, running over firm and smooth thighs to find her soaked centre.

She gasps against his mouth, grinning wickedly. “Is that what it takes to make you lose a bit of control?” she whispers, “Complimenting your pretty hair?”

He finds no better solution to get that smart, pretty mouth of hers to stop moving other than pushing the soaked fabric covering her cunt aside to shove a finger inside of her without warning. He succeeds in rendering her speechless, her mouth falling open with a loud gasp, eyes widening. Jon smiles down at her.

When she starts bucking her hips against his hand, trying to seek the friction she needs, Jon withdraws the finger, instead using the tip of it to circle the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex, running along her wet folds, watching her face contort intently. He loves how expressive she is, how she doesn’t bother to hide how good he makes her feel. It’s addicting. Hypnotising, to watch her eyes fall shut, lips parting to accommodate for breathy moans and whines, eyebrows pinched together.

“Fuck me,” she begs, digging her nails into his scalp with one hand while the other grasps his shoulder to hold herself upright as he teases her pussy, flicking her clit with barely-there touches. “Please.”

He wants to keep toying with her for a while longer but her broken whimper breaks his last thread of control as he plunges two fingers inside her tight, soaked channel, his thumb playing with her clit as he fucks her.

Her puffs of breath are heavy on his face as he increases the tempo and she lets out a piercing cry when she shatters around his slender digits which dive as deep as they can go inside of her. He pulls his hand out and looks her in the eyes as he brings his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean of _her._ The tangy and sweet taste lingers in his mouth, his cock throbbing in his pants.

She gives him a heady look before kissing him fiercely and then one thing leads to the next, which leads to them falling on top of his bed, his hand clamped over her mouth to stop her from screaming too loud as he fucks her. 

△▼

Afterwards, they lay intertwined under the covers, which usually only lasts for a few minutes before they get dressed and leave each other.

However, Daenerys has never stayed this late. And while they describe their relationship as casual, Jon can't ask her to leave at this hour. “It’s too late,” he says, “Ten thirty. You should stay the night.”

“No. You could still drop me off—”

“Daenerys,” he sighs. “Just stay. It’s not worth the trouble.”

She silently agrees.

He swallows. “I can, uh, sleep on the sofa if it’s too weird for you to—”

“Jon,” she deadpans, “We’ve just fucked. I don’t mind sharing the bed. Or _I_ could take the couch if it’s too weird for _you_.”

“No. No, it’s not.”

More silence.

“Who was that girl in the photo with you?” she asks so quietly he might’ve misheard it.

“Hm?” And then he realises what she’s talking about. “Oh. That’s my sister, Sansa. Well, when we were a lot younger. She doesn’t have those ugly braces anymore.”

She snorts against where her head is on his chest. “But you still have those wild curls.”

“Stop talking about my hair.”

“No.” She pauses. “She’s very pretty.”

“Aye.” He smiles softly. “She is.”

“How many siblings do you have?”

“Three. There’s Sansa, Robb and the youngest is Arya,” he says. “What about you?”

“None. I’m an only child,” she answers.

“Must be fun. Having all your parents’ attention to yourself.”

“No, not really.”

After a prolonged moment of peaceful quietness, he demands, “What is it then?”

“What do you mean?”

“You know,” he licks his lips, “Everyone has that one problem with their family. That one…sob story.”

She lifts her head to meet his gaze, amethyst eyes twinkling in laughter as she presses her chin on his chest. “Sob story?” she echoes.

He shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

“What’s yours?” she asks, raising an eyebrow.

“I asked first,” he points out.

She wets her lips thoughtfully. “I don’t know…. I mean, nothing tragic has ever happened with my family. Thank gods.” Daenerys stares at a spot on the pillow on which his head is resting, the wheels in her head working. “Okay, I’m about to sound like a bitch but I guess the only bad thing is my parents have never really been there for me. You know about my father, right? The Targaryens have always been wealthy. I can’t name someone in my father’s side of the family who doesn’t shit gold. My parents, they fell in love. And by that I mean the most cliché, obnoxious love story that I could tell you but you’d probably just fall asleep. I just feel like they were never really ready to have a kid.” She groans to herself, dropping her head to his chest. “That just sounds wrong.”

“No, I get what you mean. Some couples just decide to have children a bit too fast when they’re not at that point yet mentally,” he assures her.

She moves to a sitting position, crossing her legs, pulling the covers over her naked body. She nods at him. “Yeah. I feel like they were just really in love and thought it was the right time to have a kid. I mean, they weren’t even married when they had me. And they were still quite young and both had demanding careers. My father had the Targaryen legacy to carry and, well, my mother was—is a model.”

He quirks a brow. “Really?” That doesn’t surprise him too much, all this beauty has to come from someone.

“Yeah.” She chuckles. “You probably know her. Rhaella. Silver hair just like mine, blue eyes.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Oh please. She used to be on these sexy magazine covers, I’m sure most teenage boys had a few copies hiding under their beds.”

Jon guffaws, shaking his head. “Trust me, I did not have those lying around in my room.”

“You’re right, twelve-year-old Jon Snow probably had scientific magazines and dictionaries in his room instead.”

He glares at her. She’s not wrong.

Daenerys smiles before continuing, “So I grew up with these two people who didn’t really know what they were doing. Their schedules never matched, we moved from city to city all throughout my childhood. I think I’ve been everywhere in the South. One week I’d be in one place for my mother’s photoshoot and the next, I’ll be flying with them to stay a few months in another place for my father’s business deals. It was kind of chaotic. And as much as I love my parents and I know they love me, they sucked at parenting. They never really remembered anything about school or acted like normal folks. They never fit in with my friends’ parents either. Rhaella and Aerys were too…elite, for lack of better words. I remember those parties parents attended during high school, no one would try to talk to mine because they could be so arrogant without even knowing.” She pauses to laugh. “I love them with my whole heart but gods, they could be rich assholes when they wanted to.”

Jon’s amusement is dampened when he hears the underlying sadness in her voice. “Did it ever get better?” he asks.

She nods. “Oh, yes. I had to learn to be independent when I realised that these two were in their own little bubble. When I turned eighteen, I was done with them dragging me around the world for their work. I told them I wanted to stay here and finish my studies and they were very understanding. They told me I could live in our house—our fucking _mansion_ , I mean but that place never felt like home anyway since we were always on the move. So I decided to stay on campus. At least I have my friends around me there.”

“That’s the exact opposite of how I feel living here,” he admits, “this place doesn’t feel like home at all. I’d exchange it for my house back in Winterfell any time.”

“Probably because you grew up differently.”

“Yes. Unlike you, I would have liked some of that liberty your parents seemed to have given you. My father had to be _the_ strictest man on this planet.” Jon grimaces. “Even now, at almost thirty, I still feel like a kid around him.”

“And your mother?”

Jon looks away from her piercing eyes. “She passed away when I was little. A heart condition.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“You couldn’t have known.”

Daenerys lowers her head. “See, now I feel like a bitch for complaining about my rich parents who didn’t pay too much attention to me,” she mutters.

“Don’t say that.” Jon reaches for her hand in an instinctual manner, not really realising what he’s doing until he’s clasped her small, soft hand in his own in a lame attempt to get rid of the disheartened look on her face.

Daenerys’ fingers stiffen under his hold and Jon almost immediately pulls away, wondering why he did this in the first place.

They both decide to ignore what just happened as Daenerys lies back down on the bed, keeping some distance between them. “You better not snore,” she says, breaking the sudden tension.

He smiles to the ceiling before closing his eyes.

Before he falls asleep, he can’t help but question whether casual sex includes heart-to-heart conversations. The answer is pretty obvious, but he decides that a deep slumber is better than admitting that to himself.


	6. Chapter 6

Jon wakes up in a sea of silver hair.

All over his face, his pillows and his arms. He blinks to adjust to the sunlight creeping past the slits in his curtains, the rays illuminating her hair, making it look golden. Jon lets his gaze run over their intertwined forms, not recalling how they ended up like this during the night. He fell asleep on his side of the bed while she slept on the other, a considerate layer of space between them for propriety’s sake. But he awakes with her back pressed against his chest, her head resting on his forearm, his other arm wrapped around her waist. Not to mention that his face is practically buried in her hair, the soft and sweet scent of her shampoo infiltrating his nostrils.

He wonders how long his room will smell of her. Scratch that, he wonders how long his entire apartment will smell of her. His couch is done for, they’ve had sex on that numerous times, Jon is ashamed of the thought of anyone else sitting there anymore. And last night on his desk…then his room. He closes his eyes, appalled by his behaviour.

When will all of this stop? It has to, eventually. This is wrong in every way, he is well aware of that and him losing control as he does around Daenerys is not something he’s proud of.

Speaking of his lack of control…Daenerys stirs awake in his arms, releasing a soft grunt and sigh that makes Jon’s blood rush south. Gods, she did _nothing_ yet and he already wants her.

She does not help his situation, stretching out and pushing her backside against the very prominent bulge in his pants. When she feels it, Daenerys shamelessly grinds herself onto him, causing him to groan in her hair. “Daenerys.” His voice is a quiet plea whispered near her ear.

She hums in answer, not stopping the torturous roll of her hips against his own. His cock hardens at the friction, needing the annoying barriers gone. She reaches back blindly, grabbing his hand and guiding his fingers underneath her dress and up her thighs. Jon continues the rest of the journey, the tips of his fingers brushing over the sodden material of her panties, making her exhale a shaky breath. At the discovery of her arousal, the inner battle Jon is fighting with himself is lost.

He slips into her from behind.

It’s an awkward position but neither of them seems to care. In a hurry, Dany has lifted her dress and Jon pulled down the grey sweatpants he’d worn to bed. And in the next moment, he’s settling back behind her, her left leg hooking around his calf, nails digging into the forearm that’s wrapped around her chest and his cock pushing into her tight, wet heat.

The sun rises to the tempo of their laboured breaths, moans, grunts and the squelching sounds of his length diving into her cunt. He buries his face into her neck when he comes, biting onto the soft flesh and licking it. She only tightens her leg around him, reaching up to tug at his hair like she loves to do and he feels her shudder with her climax, a distinguishable gush of wetness flowing down his thighs and onto the bed.

He softens inside of her, her heartbeat steady and hard underneath his arm.

 _Yeah,_ he thinks, _I’m fucked._

△▼

He’s the least productive when Daenerys is around.

That should worry him, of course, as should many other things. But if that didn’t bother him two months ago when this whole thing started, then it’s no surprise that it doesn’t right now. If they could stop it, they never would have started in the first place.

But he still has to get some work done, so her sitting on his desk, swinging her legs distractingly is not helpful. He looks up at her. “Stop that,” he tells her, trying to sound firm and serious.

Daenerys doesn’t. She scowls at him. “Aren’t you bored already?”

“No, Daenerys, I’m not bored,” he says, sighing. “I need to mark these before tomorrow. But if you want to, I can drop you off since _you_ ’re getting bored.”

“I’m not bored,” she states, biting on her bottom lip. “Okay, fine. Maybe a bit.” She hops off the table and casually sits on top of his knees, her arms wrapping around his neck.

“You’re blocking the view,” he informs her, trying not to let her sweet smell or the curve of her ass pressing against his crotch divert his attention from the important work he has to get done. Instead, he focuses on the laptop screen that she is obscuring by sitting on his lap like this.

“I am the view,” she replies cheekily, snorting at her own words.

He hides a smile at her adorable laugh and feebly tries to pry her hands off him. “Daenerys.” His voice is austere.

She lowers her head to his and his eyes unwittingly trace her luscious mouth. She has a knowing smile on her face as she presses soft kisses along his bearded cheek before kissing him properly. “I think you deserve a break,” she mumbles. “Let’s go have some fun.”

He doesn’t need a break nor does he _deserve_ one. But she’s pretty convincing with her fingers trailing up to his neck, her soft lips kissing the side of his mouth teasingly. It’s not healthy to want someone this much.

As he kisses her back, his hands snaking under her shirt to touch her soft flesh in a way that makes her sigh in his mouth, Jon promises himself that he’ll get back to work after this.

(He doesn’t.)

She leads him into his room like this is her place rather than his, locking the door behind them as she turns to him with a dangerous smile. 

"I don't like this look," he says slowly. "What do you have planned?"

"Nothing," she answers, batting her eyelashes innocently. 

Jon rolls his eyes at this forced angelic demeanour, knowing she is nothing like this. "Daenerys," he presses. "What is it?"

"I just want us to have some fun," she tells him and kisses him. 

Jon closes his eyes, letting him guide her to his bed by pressing her small hands against his chest, her mouth not leaving his for a second. He loves kissing her. All parts of her, really. When his knees hit the edge of the bed, he sits down and she crawls on top of his lap, her favourite spot. His arms encircle her waist, tugging her closer to him, needing their bodies fused without the clothes. But Daenerys has different ideas. "Lie against the headboard," she instructs against his lips. 

"What?" 

"Do as I say," she murmurs, "Please?"

He obliges, scooting up until his back is pressed against the hard surface. Jon watches Daenerys under heavy lids as she walks to one of his drawers, opening it casually, making Jon frown in confusion. When she takes out one of his ties, the dark blue one that she loves, he chuckles. "Is this your idea of fun?"

She hums, dark eyes observing him with a wicked glint. "You've no idea."

"What are you doing?" he asks her, his voice husky. 

She makes her back onto his lap, sitting on his thighs. Jon lifts his hands to touch her, to get rid of the shirt and skirt she is wearing, and kiss her. But she swats his hands away and says, "Hands up."

"You're kidding me?"

"No." She grins. "Do you not want me?"

" _Yes,_ " he hisses. "You know I do." He wants his hands all over her, his mouth all over her. And she knows that very well. 

"Then trust me," she purrs. "Take off your shirt."

He obliges and reluctantly raises his arms, Daenerys immediately grabs them, _tying_ them up with his tie and then securing it to the metallic bar of the headboard. She pulls away, gazing at him with a satisfied look. Jon tugs at his hands but they're tightly imprisoned. 

"Perfect," she states and bends down to kiss him again. 

Jon's tongue curls around hers, caressing every inch of her sweet mouth. She drank tea with him earlier and he can still taste it on her lips, her taste burning him and making him feel more alive than ever. Daenerys' fingers brush his beard, sinking into his hair as she teasingly nips on his lower lip, eliciting a growl from him. When she leaves his mouth to kiss her way down his throat and neck, Jon's breathing quickens as does his heartrate. She presses her hands on his chest and licks the skin of his collarbone, biting into the flesh. 

He mutters her name and a curse and feels her lips curl against his heated skin. Daenerys pulls away momentarily and he looks up at her. She holds his gaze, purple mingling with grey, as she lifts her shirt and tosses it aside with her panties. But she keeps the flimsy red skirt. Jon's breath catches in his throat because she is so gorgeous, no matter how many times he's seen her get naked for _him,_ it still surprises him how someone can be this beautiful. It's unfair. His eyes roam over the smooth expanse of her stomach, the dips and curves of her luscious body. When her bra follows the pile of clothes, his last thread of sanity begins to get pulled taut. Her rosy nipples are erect and _begging_ to be kissed and bitten. She leans back down, continuing her teasing path of kissing and biting, the tight nubs on her breasts brushing against his chest. Jon groans at the torturous sensations she is mercilessly inflicting on him. She reaches his chest, twirling her hot tongue around one nipple. Jon jolts at it. "Daenerys," he begs, "Let me touch you."

"No," she answers curtly and begins unzipping his jeans. 

His cock, hard and swollen, springs out of the confines. He lets out a breathy groan when she wraps her hands around it, squeezing and pumping. She braces her hands on his chest before lowering herself on him, making them both groan when his length slides along her wet slit. She seems to love this feeling, Jon thinks as he sees the way her face contorts in pleasure, head falling back and mouth dropping open. She does it again, rubbing herself on him. He grunts, a low and painful sound from the back in his throat, his hands itching to grab her pale flesh and make it turn red with kisses and handprints. He is completely at her mercy, though, enthralled by the way she uses his cock to pleasure herself, her thighs shaking every time the head brushes against her swollen clit. Her mewls driving him mad. 

When she finally takes him inside of her, the silken walls engulfing him, Jon can't take it anymore. He'll lose his mind if he doesn't touch her soon. Daenerys rides him slowly, oh so slowly that it's pure agony. She knows she is teasing him to wits' end, her provocative smirk is telling enough. She wraps her arms around his neck, bouncing on his length at a torturous pace. His fists clench, jaw locked as he stares at the hypnotising sway of her breasts, the tattoo he's grown to love, her skin shiny with perspiration. "Please," he growls again, "I need to touch you. _Gods_ , Daenerys, you're killing me."

The moment she frees his hands, he is all over her. Kissing from her neck to her breasts like a madman, his hands mapping her body before one settles on her lower back to guide her and the other snakes to where they are joined, toying with the bundle of nerves at the apex of her sex. He pounds into her, all the pent-up frustration from her teasing him finally out. He fucks her loud and fast and she cries for him, the room gloriously filled with their filthy sounds. 

△▼

It’s become a habit of his to ask her to stay the night. He should not do that but then she is sprawled on his bed, looking thoroughly fucked and exhausted and he’s too weak to stop himself from suggesting her to sleep over. This time has to be the third time this same situation has come up. Or the fourth.

Daenerys clutches his bedsheets to her chest, her long silver hair a mess over his mattress. “I’m starting to think I should just move in,” she jests.

For just an innocent second, he considers Daenerys living with him. It would be explosive, for sure, because they’re so different. He chuckles at her. “Hm, I could use a maid.”

She wriggles her eyebrows at him. “I bet you’d like it. Me dressing up as a sexy maid for you.”

_Don’t try to imagine it._

It’s too late, his brain already paints a picture for him. And yeah…admittedly, he’d like it. "No, thanks. I'm done with your 'fun' ideas."

"Oh, come on. Don't pretend you didn't like what we just did."

Jon shakes his head, endlessly amused by the tiny woman next to him, her angelic face propped up on her hand, her eyes holding an entirely too familiar wicked glint. She looks at him like that all the time which is probably one of the many reasons he can’t ever seem to resist her. “Do you ever turn off that filthy mind of yours?” he wonders out loud.

“And do you ever turn yours on?” she purrs. “I would like for you to talk dirty to me.”

He’s curious as to how she’s never embarrassed by her boldness. He likes that about her. It’s both unnerving and alarmingly sexy. “I think I’m past that age,” he answers with a teasing smile, “Maybe you should just date guys your age.”

She lifts a brow. “Maybe,” she agrees and he detests the abrupt stab of jealousy in his chest.

“But,” she continues, sighing, “I never seem to meet decent guys who are my age.”

“How so?”

“I don’t know. It never worked out in high school. The longest relationship I had was two years and he turned out to be a prick as well. I’m starting to think I’m one of these people who are not meant for serious relationships.”

“I don’t think these people exist,” he answers.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Sure they do. Not everyone is destined to get married and have kids. I know many people who live out their days single and still happy.”

“Sure, by choice,” he says, “But I don’t believe that people are not meant for serious relationships. It’s more likely that they failed a few times and then stopped looking for love altogether. And even if they find it, they’ve already convinced themselves that it won’t work out so it just...doesn’t.”

She listens to his words attentively before a soft smile appears on her face. “That makes sense too, I suppose.” Her violet eyes meet his. “How do you know that you’ve met the right person then? And please don’t give me that ‘you just know’ bullshit.”

He snorts. “That…I don’t know,” he admits. “If I’d found the right one, I wouldn’t be here right now, would I?”

She nods carefully. “I guess not,” she mumbles. “So, Jon Snow, have you been as unsuccessful with women as I have been with men?”

“I wouldn’t say so.” He reaches out to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear for it keeps falling over her face and he is distracted by it. His fingers linger across her cheek, caressing her soft skin for a moment but pulling away before it feels too intimate. “I’ve had a pretty serious relationship back in Winterfell. With a girl named Ygritte.”

“Oh. What happened?”

“Well, I had to move here and she had to stay in the North. We knew it wouldn’t work out.”

“Hm, but isn’t true love supposed to find its way no matter what or something?” she asks sarcastically, smirking at him.

He laughs lowly. “Right. Then it wasn’t true love.”

She only yawns in response.

Jon realises that it’s pretty late, a little over half-past eleven. “I still haven’t finished marking these papers,” he mutters to himself in all seriousness.

Daenerys gives him the most adorable, inhumanely irresistible puppy eyes ever. “Sorry,” she says and if it wasn’t for that everlasting diabolical glint in her eyes, he could’ve almost believed she’s truly apologetic.

“You’re not sorry, woman,” he drawls at her as he gets up from bed, putting on his discarded shorts and shirt.

“I’m not,” she agrees, grinning at him.

Jon looks over at her and frowns. “You can, um, wear something else if you’d like.” 

“You have some dresses lying around?” she asks jokingly.

He feels his neck burn with embarrassment as he suggests, as nonchalantly as he possibly can, “I meant you can wear a shirt of mine…or something. It’d probably be more comfortable than this outfit.”

Instead of making fun of his suggestion like he believed she would, Daenerys bites her lip thoughtfully, her eyes undecipherable. She finally nods. “Yeah. That sounds like a good idea.”

Only when he hands her an old, over-sized shirt he never wears anymore does he realise that unlike what she thinks, it’s not really a good idea. Because the sight of Daenerys in his clothes, the black shirt falling baggily to her thighs, all messed up from their previous strenuous activities, sleeping on his bed with his covers pulled up on her is…disarming. There’s no other word for it.

He stands in the doorway, the scene dismantling him. She’s sat upon his bed, her hair an unruly, curly mess on top of her head, her eyes soft and bleary from much-needed sleep and her plump lips bruised from their kisses. His heartbeat stutters. She looks like she belongs _here_.

“Where are you going?” she asks quietly.

He gulps. But the lump in his throat stays there and his heartbeat is still unsteady. “I need to finish these papers,” he answers, prying his eyes away from her.

She yawns again, looking as cute as ever. “Well, hurry up and come back to bed,” she orders, her voice light and joking, as she settles back down.

Jon’s heart twists anyway. _Come back to bed._ As if it’s the most normal thing in the world for them to sleep together. And he knows how they’ll wake up, with her body tucked under his, her arms wrapped around him. He also knows that it’s not supposed to mean anything because casual sex is all this is about, right? Then why does he not immediately disentangle his limbs from hers when morning comes, instead choosing to remain wrapped up in her warmth for a few more seconds than what is considered appropriate?

Jon goes back to work with only half a mind to focus on the task ahead. The other side of his brain is asking himself what the fuck he’s doing. Because deep down, he already knows this will not end well.

△▼

Things start derailing sooner than he expected they would. He wished he could stay in this little dream for a while longer, with his dream job and a woman that even his dreams couldn’t have concocted. He had hoped that he could keep pretending that he was able to separate these two intertwined things for a moment longer.

Unfortunately, things don’t tend to go the way one wants them to.

The next morning, Val doesn’t seem her usual joyful self when she sees him. Her eyes are cast downward when he passes her in the hallway. He touches her forearm to stop her in her tracks and she finally looks up, blinking in surprise. “Jon,” she breathes out.

“Hey,” he says with an easy smile, “How’re you doing?”

Blue eyes are filled with dread when she answers, “Not good.”

“What happened?” he inquires.

“Haven’t you heard?”

“I just got here,” he answers with a nervous chuckle. “You’re worrying me, Val.”

“It’s about Davos,” she says.

“Seaworth?” Jon echoes, the old man’s face familiar to him now. “What about him?”

“He got fired after being caught accepting a bribe from a student,” she says in a low voice, careful so as not to let anyone else hear.

Jon inhales sharply. “What?” he asks incredulously. “No, he wouldn’t.”

“I was surprised as well.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Hundred per cent. Melisandre told me,” Val tells him. Sighing and shaking her head in disappointment. “The kid has rich parents and Davos accepted a large sum of money in exchange for faking his grades.”

Jon sighs. “How did they find out?”

“No crime is perfect, thank goodness,” she replies and shakes her head once more, looking more let down than before. “It sucks. I really liked that man.”

“So did I.”

“You never know people’s real intentions,” she says, voice laced with disgust. “How could he do that?”

Jon doesn’t reply to that. In a way, it feels hypocritical of him to judge the old man when he’s in a similar situation. Not for the money but isn't what he’s doing with Daenerys even worse ethically?

Guilt pools in his stomach. The guilt he’s been pushing away for weeks now, pretending everything would turn out alright. But with Val looking so disheartened about what their friend did, Jon cannot begin to imagine what she’d think of him if she ever finds out the truth. Will she look at him with the same disgust in her eyes? No, it’ll probably be worse for him. The thought upsets him.

“You look paler than I did when I found out,” Val says, chuckling meekly. “It’s alright, Jon. I know you respected that man too.”

Jon forces a nod. “Yeah,” he says, his throat closing. “Such a shame.”

Val clears her throat. “By the way…Jon.”

He glances at her, “Yes?”

Jon notes the blush on her cheeks as she looks down in an almost shy manner before speaking. "I wanted to ask you something...."

△▼

“You know what would cheer me up right now?”

“For your classes tomorrow to get cancelled?”

“Yeah, that,” Loras agrees, “But also dancing. And drinking. Lots of it.”

Dany grins. “I bet it would.”

Loras strangely looks at her. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” she asks.

“To agree with me and suggest we go to the Dragonpit. Right now,” he says matter-of-factly.

Daenerys wets her lips, thinking of how to lie to him. Again. As she always does nowadays, feeling guiltier every time she is dishonest with him. “I’m so tired. This headache’s been killing me,” she announces.

Loras stops in front of her, forcing her to meet his eyes. It’s harder to lie when she stares into his unwavering, doubtful gaze. But she does it anyway. “You’re always tired,” he drawls. “How long has it been since we’ve not gone out for a drink, Dany? Even Margaery thinks it’s weird.”

“It’s not weird. I’m just feeling unwell.”

“Is it about your boyfriend again?”

She bristles. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“He might as well be with how often you’re with him,” her friend says in a huff. “The mystery guy I still haven’t met,” he adds, glaring at her.

Daenerys nudges his elbow playfully. “Don’t be jealous. You’re still my favourite.”

“You’re avoiding the question. When do I get to meet him?”

“Never. Since he’s not my boyfriend. Why would I introduce you to some guy I’m fucking?” she answers, raising her eyebrows.

He lets it go with an annoyed sigh. “I still think it’s unfair how often you’re ditching us for him.” Loras eyes her funnily. “Is the sex that good?”

She laughs at the unexpected question, biting her lip. Yes. It’s definitely _that_ good. Shaking her head, she gives Loras a gentle pat on the shoulder and a bright smile. “I swear tomorrow we’ll hang out.”

Dany feels bad for not spending more time with Loras and Margaery. She had every intention of going out with them tonight but then something came up. More specifically, Jon Snow was broodier than usual today.

She couldn’t help but notice his peculiar behaviour in class. His eyes were distant, tone dull and overall, something just felt off about him. Daenerys didn’t wish to dwell on it, everyone can have a bad day. Gods know _she_ has been in shitty moods before. However, when he passed her in the hallway earlier and she tried a tentative, secretive smile in his direction, he looked away evasively, his eyes troubled.

She hasn’t stopped thinking about it. The whole day. Mentally going over their last encounter, Daenerys can’t recall a reason for this sudden mood shift. If anything she woke up in his arms this morning, wearing _his_ shirt. For a while, it had felt overwhelming. Whatever they’ve been doing. But she brushed aside these thoughts since they both needed to get to uni. 

Daenerys hates being left in the dark. Hates how curiosity is eating her up inside. So she decides to fix this—find out what is wrong with him.

The route to his apartment has become a familiar pattern by now. Usually, she’d feel excited about going to see him. Their forbidden little escapades. She couldn’t get enough of this addicting thing between them. But today, the coiling in her stomach is not one of desire or lust but nervousness. Anxiety. 

Taking in a deep breath, Dany raises her knuckles to knock on his door, the wait for him to answer making her more anxious than ever.

Jon opens the door with an unreadable expression on his face. He doesn’t look shocked to see her. Why would he, anyway, this is their routine now. She steps in and kisses him. Purely out of instinct. When Jon’s mouth moves against hers, a little breath of relief comes out of her mouth. Perhaps she was just overreacting and there’s truly nothing wrong.

His arm wraps around her waist as he uses his other hand to close the door. Daenerys brings her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to welcome the slide of his tongue against hers but he pulls away.

She tries not to let her disappointment show.

Slowly, Daenerys removes her arms from him and takes a step back, looking at his face. She can’t quite put her finger on what’s wrong but there’s _something_. “Is this a bad time?” she asks lightly.

Jon meets her eyes and sighs. “No. Not really. I needed to speak with you anyway.”

Gods, why does that sound like a breakup?

She clears her throat, clasping her hands in front of her to stop herself from nervously playing with her hair. “Oh.”

He gives her a small, fleeting smile. “Let’s sit.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m in a hurry anyway,” she lies, giving him a dismissive shrug.

Jon nods. “Have you heard about this festival everyone’s talking about?”

She groans. “It sucks. But I’m saying that as a local. Perhaps you’ll find the fair interesting as a Northerner,” she teases.

“Val asked me to accompany her to it.”

She does a good job of maintaining a smile. “So do you finally believe me when I say she’s obviously got a thing for you?” she quips.

Jon doesn’t share her amusement. “It doesn’t necessarily have to mean a date,” he mutters.

Daenerys scoffs. “Come on. She could throw herself at you at this point and you’d still be like, ‘hm, maybe she just thinks of me as a close friend’,” she tells Jon.

He eyes her sceptically. “I’m not sure if I should be going.”

Daenerys presses her lips together. “Why not?”

He blinks at her. “I don’t know. It felt appropriate to ask you first.”

“Ask me what?” she asks, a bit too rudely. “Who am I to tell you whether you should be going on a date or not?”

“Maybe because we’re…we’re—” he stops trying, exhaling loudly. “I don’t even know what we are.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “We’re fucking. Is that the word?”

“I don’t know, is it?” he retorts.

“What is that supposed to mean?” she asks defensively.

“You’re here all the time. You sleep in my bed almost every other night—”

“Because you invite me to stay over,” she interrupts him.

“Aye, I do.” He swallows.

“I don’t see the point,” she argues. “We’re having fun, isn’t that what it’s all about?”

“Fun,” he repeats. “You know what I found out today? One of the professors at Aegon's Hill got fired because a student paid him to fake his results. He got caught and who knows, his career’s most likely completely ruined because of that. I’m really starting to question whether this is worth it. And you’re not helping.” He runs a hand across his face. "I've worked hard for this. My whole life. And I'm throwing it all away for what? For _fun_?"

Dany scowls at him, anger and frustration bubbling in her chest. “Is that what you think of me?” she demands, steel dripping from her voice. “That _this_ is about grades? Being at the top of your class? That I’m, what exactly, blackmailing you with sex?”

He begins shaking his head to disagree with her but she doesn’t care. She prefers rage anyway. Fury is better than hurt and that nasty taste of jealousy. Daenerys’ heeled boots click on the floor as she makes her way to his door.

“Daenerys, you know that’s not what I—”

She turns to him with a heated look. “Please, do us both a favour and go on your stupid date,” she snarls at him, registering the stunned look on his face before she whips right back around, leaving his apartment with a trail of fire following her path.

△▼

“Another one!”

“This is your fifth glass.”

“Who’s your boss again, Gendry?”

A sigh. “Your father.”

“Right. So technically _I_ am.” She slides the glass over the marbled counter and Gendry stops it with his fingers. “Another one,” she requests again.

The brown-haired boy obliges but not before giving her a ‘you’re-going-to-regret-this’ look. She knows she will. Well, sober Daenerys knows she will. But it’s too late now, her mind is already buzzing with that numbing sensation alcohol brings and it feels good, really good, so she won’t think of the aftermath for now.

“What is it?” Gendry asks as he uncaps a bottle of red wine. “Bad breakup? Daddy issues? Drug problems?”

“Are these the typical problems you deal with?”

“Every single day.”

She laughs and then winces.

Gendry raises a brow at her. “Head’s hurting already, isn’t it? Told you. You’re going too fast.”

“I don’t care,” she says, eagerly reaching for the glass of wine.

He watches her worriedly. “I’m probably going to have to call a cab for you, won’t I?”

“Probably,” she says after drowning the whole thing in one sip, coughing at the overwhelming taste. “Fuck. This feels good. I haven’t gotten this drunk in _soooo_ long.”

“Daenerys?”

Dany turns around at the loud questioning voice, stumbling out of her chair to greet Loras. “Hey!” she shouts, almost collapsing in his arms. Gods, she’s so tired. She could take a nap right here on this dancefloor.

Her friend helps her stand up, concerned eyes taking in her appearance. She probably looks like a mess right now. Her curly hair flying in all directions, lipstick smeared, eyes hazy. Loras’ frown deepens. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he says into her ear.

“I’ve changed my mind. Where’s Marge?”

“Uh, she heard you weren’t coming so she didn’t either.”

Dany pouts at that.

Loras shakes his head at her. “I’m still confused. What the hell are you doing here? You look like a hot mess. Gendry?”

The man behind the bar lifts his hands in mock surrender. “She’s crashed here a few hours ago. Has been drinking the whole time.”

“Not the whole time,” Daenerys says. “We’ve also talked about you, Loras. You know…about your crush on Gendry’s uncle, Renly.”

Her friend’s eyes widen at that, cheeks flushing pink. “I’ve no idea what she’s talking about,” Loras blurts as he quickly pulls her away.

Daenerys giggles as she lets him drag her away. She only stops when she hears one of her favourite songs. “Come, let’s dance.”

Loras doesn’t seem to match her drunken excitement. “Dany, are you alright?”

“I’m better than I’ll ever be,” she yells, forcing him to dance with her.

He knows he won’t be getting any answers out of shitfaced Daenerys so Loras chuckles, deciding to let it go for the night. She knows she won’t escape his questions tomorrow, though.

She closes her eyes, her head spinning as she moves to the music.

Nothing else matters right now.

Her only goal is _not_ to think about Jon Snow.

△▼

His only goal is not to think about Daenerys.

The problem is that’s easier said than done. And it’s very hard to forget about Daenerys’ face during their argument. Her expressive eyes burning with the fire of an untamed fury directed at him. He’s not mad about her misunderstanding him but the fact that she seemed to _want_ to misunderstand him. Like she’d rather think of the worst instead of trying to comprehend what he was telling her.

Jon also hates to admit that she was right. The festival was boring. But Val seemed to enjoy the concert and the Ferris wheel ride so he kept his negativity to himself. In any case, it’s probably his shitty mood that stopped him from having fun.

Val, on the other hand, had such a great time she did not seem to notice Jon’s sour mood. He’s glad about that. They decide to stop by a restaurant to eat dinner since the sun has already begun to set by the time they’ve left the fair.

She sits across from him by a table next to the window overlooking the street. Under the last rays of the sun, Val’s hair almost looks silver and golden. He sighs inwardly at the unbidden comparison.

She settles for a salad and Jon unhealthily goes for a pineapple pizza.

Daenerys hates that.

Jon frowns to himself, wondering how he even knows that in the first place. Oh, yes, probably because of that one time he ordered a large pizza for them to eat and she’d faked a gag at the sight of it.

“What?” he’d inquired, amused by the way she scrunched up her nose.

“You’re a monster.” She pushed the box back to him. “Pineapple on pizza? Really? That makes me not want to fuck you anymore.”

“You’re unbelievable. They’re not that bad at all,” he had insisted.

“I’m not eating that.”

Jon’s lips twitch at the memory because Daenerys stubbornly had him sit down with her and remove all the pieces of pineapple for her to eat.

“What are you smiling about?”

Jon meets Val’s eyes and blinks twice. “I’m sorry?”

“You were just smiling,” she points out with a little smile of her own.

He awkwardly rubs at his bearded cheek. “I can’t remember,” he lies and tries to clear the sudden dryness in his throat. “I hope you had a good time today.”

“You know I did. It feels good to unwind, doesn’t it?”

“Definitely.”

Pink blooms in her cheeks once more as she gazes at him. “I’d been meaning for us to do _this_ in a while now.”

Jon feels hot under his collar. There it is. No more denying it now, no more questioning what she truly wants. Daenerys’ words ring in his head, all the times she’d teased him about how Val definitely liked him. He chose not to acknowledge the obvious signs and cling to the belief that they were just two close friends.

The way she looks at him now leaves no room for misinterpretations.

And suddenly, it all feels wrong.

Her hair could almost be silver. Her smile could almost be bright like Dany’s. Her eyes could almost be captivating enough. Her voice could almost be as enticing.

Val could _almost_ be Daenerys. Perhaps even a less complicated, easier-to-be-around version of Daenerys.

_But._

But she’s not Daenerys. And he needs to stop lying to himself pretending he doesn’t know what he wants. It’s not fair to anyone, especially not to Val who’s been nothing but a kind friend to him all this time.

“Val,” he begins, calculating his words so as not to hurt her, “I really like you….”

Her smile wavers. After a pregnant pause, she catches on. “There’s a but,” she states.

“I wish there wasn’t,” he tells her. “It’s just – things are quite complicated and confusing for me right now. I don’t think it’d be fair to drag you into this.”

“It’s okay, Jon.” To her credit, she doesn’t sound angry or tremendously upset. Jon remembers his awful breakup with Ygritte. It had been so loud and wild he’d lost sleep over it. Even Daenerys is quite untamed, albeit not being insane like his ex. But Val is always quiet and _nice._ It pains Jon that she’s met him in this period of his life. A part of his mind, still grounded and logical, is naming him an idiot for rejecting her like this.

Daenerys is like walking on slippery rocks in a deep river full of monsters while Val is hard, solid ground with no danger around. The smart choice would be the woman sitting in front of him.

Gods help him, he’s too much of a fool for Dany already.

They eat quietly after that. But the silence is not tense or awkward like he’d expected it to be. And when they finish, she looks at him with a knowing smile. “I’m assuming there’s someone else in your life already,” she says.

Jon stuffs his hands in his jeans’ pockets. “Something like that,” he offers, remembering the way Daenerys stormed out of his place after shouting at him to ‘go on his stupid date’.

“Well, she’s a lucky girl,” Val tells him.

Jon returns a soft smile. “I’m sure you’ll find a better guy anyway.”

She chuckles. “Someone who isn’t scared of Ferris wheels?”

He shuts his eyes in embarrassment. “Please, never bring that up again.”

“I make no promises.” She shifts on her feet. “I need to go now, it’s getting late.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“No, I think I’ll be staying over at my friend’s for the night and she lives nearby,” she answers with a smile and looks at him unsurely. “Goodnight Jon.”

He gives her a weird side-hug, watching as she walks away and wondering if he’s even made the right choice. With a drawn-out sigh, Jon returns to his car and only then does he see that he received two new text messages. His heart drums fast in his chest when he sees they’re both from Daenerys.

**Just lettimg you know th at I’mm hsving lotsof fun without yiu.**

He can barely read the unintelligible sentence at first. After a second, thorough glance, he finally understands: just letting you know that I’m having lots of fun without you.

The second message is a picture of her. It’s blurry and of poor quality. She’s lifting a glass of wine in the air, her hair falling over her face, range of white teeth shining in a huge smile.

Jon rolls his eyes. He knows she’s drunk and it’s useless to argue with her but he can’t help it. He replies right away.

**If you’re having so much fun then why are you texting me?**

She answers fast too, making Jon scoff at the irony. She is proving his point. The idea of her feeling as miserable about their argument as he does is soothing to Jon. He wants to believe that he’s not alone in his conflicting feelings about her.

**If yyour on a date then why arw you replying???**

Jon sighs.

**Where are you?**

**Nne of your businessss**

But then she goes on to send him multiple picture and videos of her dancing and, _gods,_ she seems senselessly drunk. He also notices the familiar logo and bar of the Dragonpit.

Jon hesitates for a brief moment. He should just go home.

Another part of him can’t stand the idea of leaving her in this state so he makes up his mind against his better judgment. Starting the engine, he goes to find her.

△▼

He hates this place.

He promised himself he wouldn’t step a foot here ever again yet, here he is. Standing in a crowd of young, sweaty people who are way too drunk to see how bad their dancing is. Amidst the chaos, Jon searches for a hint of silver hair. His searches are fruitless because the room is foggy and the lights are blinding. And he fears if he stays too long, he’ll lose his sense of hearing as well.

Just when he begins to think all hope is lost, he spots Daenerys at last. Dancing with her friend. _Closely._ He wonders, then, if that is how she feels about him and Val. This all-too-consuming darkness that is raging inside of him at the sight of another man’s hands on Daenerys.

He heads for the men’s restroom and texts her. Telling her that he’s here and that he wishes to talk.

Daenerys arrives almost instantly. Before he can even consider whether she’ll come or not, she is bursting through the door. Even all mussed up from head to toe, Daenerys is a vision in blue silk, red lipstick and curly hair. She wobbles slightly as she closes the door behind her, leaning against it as she observes him under thick lashes.

“Why are you here?” she asks.

 _Why am I here?_ He doesn’t know. “We need to talk…about earlier. You know that’s not what I was trying to say when I told you about what happened to one of my colleagues. I’m not saying you’re blackmailing me for anything, Daenerys, but that is how it’ll be viewed if it ever gets out.”

Daenerys stares at him blankly.

He exhales roughly. “You’re awfully drunk, huh?” he concludes. “Go on then. Get back to dancing. I think I should save this conversation for tomorrow,” he declares curtly, approaching her so he can head out, understanding that this was a bad idea. What did he think? That he’d show up here and take her home? _This_ is what she likes doing anyway.

She presses her back into the door, not moving.

Jon stands in front of her, meeting her unflinching gaze. “I’m leaving,” he states as if it wasn’t clear already.

She juts her chin. “Did you fuck her?”

He lets out an unanticipated laugh. “ _What_?”

“You heard me.”

“I—” He takes in a deep breath. “I’m not doing this right now. You’re drunk.”

“I wanna know,” she insists. “Are you together now?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted? For me to go on _my stupid date_?”

Her scowl deepens. “So is that a yes then?”

Jon inches closer to her. “Don’t you think it’s hypocritical of you to ask that,” he drawls, “when you were all over that guy? The one you're always with.”

Daenerys’ lips curl in her signature devilish smile as she places her hands on his shoulders and, in a matter of a second or two, has him whirled around and pinned to the door. Jon lets out a surprised grunt at the movement, staring down into her purple eyes as she leans on her toes. “He’s gay,” she deadpans, watching in amusement as his face falls, embarrassment clouding his features.

“Oh.”

“Answer me, then. Did you two fuck? Was it that bad for you to come running back to me? I’m not your second option, you—”

He switches their positions again, trapping her against the door, making her gasp as his body presses into hers. “You sound jealous for someone who said we were just having fun. Isn’t this what you told me?”

“I’m not jealous,” she sneers.

“So, if I told you that _yes,_ we went on a date and had a great time and plan to do it again, you’d be okay with it?”

Her eyes flash with pure, untamed rage as she shoves at his chest. “Let me go,” she hisses.

Jon grabs her hands to stop her from struggling. “Nothing of the sorts happened,” he mutters, “I just wanted you to be honest with me.”

She is breathing heavily. “Fuck you,” she says before kissing him.

Daenerys’ drunken kisses are even more violent than her sober ones. Perhaps she is just angry, though. Jon groans in her mouth, sucking and licking at her bottom lip and her tongue like a man starved. It’s only been a few hours but he’s missed this already. She has become a need rather than a want, something that he has to have to end his day correctly.

“I want you,” she gasps, kissing his upper lip and then biting the bottom one, “So badly. I couldn’t stop thinking about you, thinking about what you two could be doing and _hating_ it.”

Gods. Her sweet mouth and whispered words will be the death of him. She’ll be the death of him.

His hands begin lowering the straps of her dress, waiting for her breasts to spill out so he can attach his lips to them and make her writhe like he knows how to with a certain amount of pressure on her nipples.

Then, he stops, lowering his hands from her body using every ounce of restraint he can manage.

Daenerys looks at him dazedly, her pupils fat with desire, her skin burning everywhere he touched her. “What?” she asks breathlessly.

He licks his lips, tasting _her_ and the wine. “I want to do this properly.”

She eyes him in confusion. “We’re in a club. There’s no bed around. If you want, fuck me on the sink.”

Jon laughs, shaking his head. “I mean,” he says, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear, “I want you to be sober. I want us to talk first.”

“But I want us to fuck,” she says, pouting like a kid being told no about candy.

He rolls his eyes at her. “You don’t know what you want right now.”

As if to prove his point about how drunk she is, Daenerys stops talking and rushes in one of the stalls. Jon comes right behind her, catching her hair before she kneels and pukes inside the toilet. He grimaces, using one hand to smooth down her back. “That’s it,” he murmurs softly. “Let it out.”

When she’s done, she sighs tiredly. “I’m so sleepy.”

“Let me take you to my place.”

Her eyes glitter. “To have sex?”

It’s going to be a long night.

△▼

“Daenerys, please stand still.”

“Do you know that song that goes—” she begins humming.

“No.”

“Think! It’s so familiar.”

“I really don’t know.”

“Think harder.”

He huffs. “Stop.” He grabs her forearms, steadying her once more. “Gods, just stop moving so I can take off this bloody dress.”

“ _Ooooh,_ so we are going to fuck?”

Jon rolls his eyes and finally manages to pull the strings at her waist and unzip this nightmare. The silk slides down her body easily, as he knew it would, after all, he’s done this to her many times before. Nevertheless, this is the first time he’s taking off her dress with no intentions of it leading to something sexual, no matter how _hard_ she is tempting him. And she is. Gods, she is. Moving her hips jokingly, her hands travelling all over his body as he steps closer to help her out of the dress.

“Stop that,” he mutters as her nails dig into his neck. She loves to do that, especially when he hits that spot inside of her cu—

“I think I remember the song,” she blurts out.

“Good for you,” he says unceremoniously. “Put this on.” He hands her one of his old shirts.

Daenerys stares at it.

Jon sighs for the umpteenth time. “Lift your arms,” he instructs as he helps her put it on.

He ignores the sudden jolt of possessiveness he feels over her when he sees her like this, all wrapped up in his shirt. Jon discards her dress and tells her, “Get on the bed. I’ll bring you some water.”

When he comes back, she is sitting cross-legged on his bed, running her fingers through her pale hair, singing the song whose name she just learned. Jon brings her the glass of water which she gulps down in one go. “Thank you,” she says, smiling at him.

“Get some sleep,” he says softly.

“Sleep with me.”

Now, how is he supposed to say no to those big, round eyes and adorable pout? He makes himself comfortable next to her and freezes as she unashamedly curls into him, her arm slinging over his stomach and her head resting on his chest. Jon smiles to himself. They’d usually end up like this in the morning but she seems to have found her spot already, uncaring for pretences.

“Jon?”

“Hmm?”

“You were right, I was very jealous,” she says.

Jon chuckles, pressing a kiss into her hair.

As he drifts off to sleep with Daenerys’ head on his chest, his fingers absent-mindedly playing with her hair, his apartment feels like something close to _home_ for the first time ever.


	7. Chapter 7

Daenerys doesn’t remember the last time she was this hungover. The dull ache in her skull only intensifies as she gains more consciousness and she winces in discomfort, twisting and turning on her bed until—

_Wait._

That’s not her bed.

These bedsheets smell too good to be hers and the bed is way too large to be the one in her dorm. Dany cracks open an eyelid then the next, blinking to adjust to the brightness. Bits and pieces of last night come back to her, enough to make sense but not enough for her to remember everything. She recalls arguing with Jon and heading to the bar. After that, a lot of it is blurry. So, a lot of drinking must’ve been involved. Then she remembers Jon…and him driving her to his house and….

Daenerys lifts the covers and groans at the confirmation of her doubts _,_ she is indeed wearing his shirt.

She just knows she must’ve done something embarrassing last night. It wouldn’t be the first time drunk Dany did something humiliating but yesterday night, she was _hammered._ Drunk out of her mind. She was angry at Jon and was looking for ways to get back at him while he was out on a date with Val, that beautiful, tall, blonde woman who could actually be his girlfriend and not someone who would just fuck him and leave. Not to mention she seemed nice, too, while Daenerys had the temper of a dragon.

In other words, Val was everything she could never be for Jon. And she hated how jealous that made her feel. Daenerys didn’t realise how possessive she’d become of him until he was out with another woman, after having just fought with her. She had imagined the worst things, thought of all the ways he was probably kissing her, perhaps she even liked his slow and gentle kisses and did he smile while kissing Val as he did with her? These thoughts were eating her from the inside, churning in her stomach until she felt like she had to throw up.

That’s about all she recalls from the previous night.

But now she’s on his bed, wearing his clothes.

A throat is cleared, catching her attention. Daenerys peeks up, breath hitching at the sight of Jon leaning against the doorframe. He’s wearing the grey sweatpants he loves to wear to bed and that white t-shirt whose neckline she always stains with her lipstick. He offers her a little smile. “Hi.”

“Hey.” Well, fuck, his voice might be sexy when it’s groggy but she sounds like a dying frog in comparison.

“How are you feelin’?” he asks.

“Like a truck hit my head at full speed,” she says.

He snorts. “Take this. It’ll help with the pain.”

She takes the pill from his hand and the glass of water which he hands her. She swallows it quickly, along with a few large gulps of the cold liquid.

Jon sits on the bed next to her and observes her face, the look on his own so intense it makes her look away. “You should probably slow down on the drinking next time,” he murmurs to her.

She looks up in defiance, a few rude words burning the tip of her tongue—like ‘who are you to tell me what I should or shouldn’t do?’ but her annoyance wavers at the look of concern in his eyes, so very deep that it makes her heart beat faster in her chest. _Fuck._ She’s truly too far gone for him. She swallows. “Did we…last night, did we—”

“Have sex?”

She looks up at him and nods.

“No,” he says, “You were clearly unwell. And way too intoxicated. I just took you here and changed your clothes.”

_Of course, he’s a respectful idiot. This is why you like him._

The realisation doesn’t surprise her. It’s not something new or revolutionary. Daenerys feels like she’s always liked him – but has also always denied it. What is there not to like about Jon? He’s smart and kind and all sorts of handsome. But she doesn’t _want_ to like him. She doesn’t want to grow attached to someone she can’t fully have, not for now, anyway.

“And your date with Val,” she mumbles despite herself, her chest growing a bit tight. She looks down at her hands, playing with the ring on her forefinger, the one her mother gave her. “How did it go?”

Above her, Jon chuckles softly. “You know, you asked me the same thing last night.”

Her cheeks grow warm.

“Not so nicely, though,” he finishes, “You screamed ‘did you fuck her?’ at me.”

Her blush deepens but she holds his gaze. She wishes she could remember his answer to that question so that would save her from pathetically asking, “Did you?”

Jon reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing inadvertently against her cheek. She leans into his touch, drawn to his warmth, before she steels herself, waiting for his reply. “You know the answer to that,” he says softly.

She wants to argue and say that she doesn’t but staring into his eyes, it’s obvious that she does. She’s the one who’s always hiding from what she feels for him, Jon’s feelings are open and on display for her. The honesty in his voice makes the knot in her chest grow tighter until she can scarcely breathe. “I lied,” she blurts out, “when I said that this is just fun. It was but then…it became something else.”

“I know,” he assures her.

“You do?” she asks.

“I feel the same way,” he tells her.

She huffs a breath of relief. “Thank gods for that, I no longer feel like a fool in this.”

“We _are_ probably fools for this, though,” he teases.

“I wish I could bring myself to give a fuck,” she jests back and captures his laughter with her mouth, closing the distance between them and throwing her arms around his neck to kiss him.

Jon opens his mouth for her instantly and she grins against his mouth, teasingly nipping on his bottom lip in a way she knows he loves before pulling away. “You’re going to be late,” she says, threading her fingers through his hair.

“And I don’t even care,” he replies, “You bring out the worst in me.”

“That’s a compliment for me,” she declares, pressing light kisses along his jaw as he runs his hands up and down her back.

“Daenerys.”

“Hm?”

“Let me take you out tonight,” he requests, his voice muffled by her hair.

She smiles against his neck. “A real date?”

“Yes. Screw this whole thing…I want it to be _real_.”

She pulls away to look at his face. His brows are slightly furrowed, lips pouted as he stares at her, his eyes begging for her to say yes, to drop the pretences and allow _them_ a chance. Daenerys can’t resist the look. Actually, she doesn’t want to. Selfishly, she burrows her face in his neck, inhaling deeply and relaxing in his arms. “Yes,” she answers, which might not be the correct answer, which might bring more problems than solutions to their relationship but it feels right. And that’s all that matters.

“Now I think we both need to get ready,” she declares, detaching herself from him and winking at his disheartened expression, “You know, I can’t miss lecture with my favourite professor.”

He rolls his eyes. “As if you actually listen to anything that he’s saying.”

“It’s not my fault he looks so _fuckable_ when he wears those sexy ties.”

Jon groans. “Again with the ties!”

△▼

What’s good about having a roommate who doesn’t speak is that she never asks Daenerys where she has been. Missandei isn’t nosy. Missandei just doesn’t care. When Daenerys enters her dorm room, the girl doesn’t even lift her head to acknowledge her presence, she’s too lost in a book with her headphones on. Dany is grateful for that since because of Jon, she barely stays here anymore and to anyone else, that would appear strange.

She might be free from Missandei’s questions but not Loras’.

He barges into her dorm room like he owns the place.

“You scared me,” she scolds him.

Loras raises a brow. “What happened yesterday?”

Daenerys smiles sheepishly. “Got shitfaced, didn’t I?”

Her friend narrows his eyes. “That you did. And then you disappeared. Let me guess, what’s his name again? _Daemon_? He came to get you?”

She blinks. “Yes.”

“I haven’t seen him.”

“There were so many people, you probably didn’t notice him.”

“What does he look like?”

“He’s…hot,” she answers vaguely.

“Where does he live?”

She scoffs. “Why would I tell you that?”

“Because I’m sure he took you to his place, right? I’m just concerned about my best friend. Who’s been acting strange ever since this mysterious Daemon has popped up in her life.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

Daenerys can tell from his defensive posture than an argument is about to follow. And she begins to feel guilty. Because this is Loras, _her_ Loras, and he isn’t a stranger nor someone she should fear. She trusts him with her whole life and it feels so wrong to hide this from him. On top of that, she wants to talk about Jon. She needs to tell someone about him and all that she feels for him—nobody would understand her better than Loras.

She breathes in deeply. “OkayIliedit’sJonSnowthatI’mseeing.”

He stares at her. _Glares_ at her. “What?”

“I said I lied,” she admits, “And that it’s…” she coughs, “Jon Snow,” coughs again, “that I’m seeing.”

There’s a pregnant pause during which Daenerys drops her gaze to her shoes, knowing she is about to get yelled at. He only sighs. “Now, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“You _knew_?”

“I saw him yesterday, Daenerys. Saw our professor walk into the men’s restroom and then you disappearing two minutes later after getting a text. Then, for the rest of the night, you’re gone. It wasn’t that hard to put two and two together.”

She grimaces to herself. “And?” she asks, suddenly anxious because he still hasn’t given her a proper reaction.

“Would it change a thing if I told you that this was a bad idea? One of the worst you’ve had?”

She wets her lips and gives him a truthful answer, “Probably not.”

Loras doesn’t look at her judgmentally but only worriedly. “You know what this could do.”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t care?”

“What do you want me to tell you, Loras?” she asks. “I like him. I haven’t felt like that in so long. It’s not just about sex, it was but it’s also everything else. I like being around him, I like hearing him talk about normal, dumb things. See? I’m sounding like a lovestruck, sappy teenager for him.”

“I’m seeing that,” her friend says, snorting. “And I’m happy for you. I really am. But…listen, just be careful, okay?”

She promises him that she will, not knowing that sometimes, things go wrong no matter how careful one is.

△▼

“My father would hate you.”

Daenerys looks up at him, her eyes gone wide, a frown curling on her beautiful face. “What?”

“I’ve just realised that my father would probably—actually, most definitely hate you,” Jon repeats.

She lifts an eyebrow and leans on her elbows, watching him intently. “Why?”

This position gives him a more beautiful view of her beauty. Because, seven hells, she’s gorgeous tonight. This is supposed to be a casual dinner, nothing too fancy, yet she wore one of the sexiest dresses he’s ever seen. The bright, sparkling silver material clings to all her curves and attaches to her skin in a way that makes him jealous that it’s not his hands which are getting this privilege. The V-cut is low and deep, offering a teasing look at her cleavage, the dip of her breasts…. Jon takes a long sip of wine. He needs to get her out of here already. They drove a long way to this restaurant, to make sure they got as far as they could from familiar people who could recognise them. But now he’s beginning to regret this choice because he wants to get her back home already and on his bed, sprawl her on his white sheets and worship her like the goddess she is.

“You’re everything he hates in a woman. You love to break the rules, you drink and smoke.”

“Hey, I’m trying to quit.”

He smiles. “You swear a lot.”

“No fucking way,” she drawls sarcastically and Jon laughs.

“And you wear stuff like…this.”

She pushes her hair off her shoulder and the curls stay intact as they bounce back. Daenerys watches him with that sexy gleam in her violet eyes. “So your dad is an old-school man who thinks women shouldn’t dress sexy?”

“Exactly,” he admits. “He raised me to believe so as well. That I should settle down for a respectful woman who smiles and nods.”

“Oh, is it, now? Hm, that sounds great. A pretty little wife waiting for you to get back to work, who won’t fight with you, who isn’t half as stubborn as me.”

“That sounds boring,” he tells her, pouting jokingly.

“Right. The sex would definitely be boring. Probably missionary,” she continues.

His smile flickers off, because while he doesn’t mind teasing her, Daenerys always takes it a step too far, leaving him all flustered.

“A wife who wouldn’t dare do _this_ in a thousand years,” she murmurs, sliding her chair closer to his so she can slip her hand under the table covers, Jon tensing as he feels the ghost of her fingers crawl up his knee.

“Daenerys,” he grits out as she brushes her palm over his clothed thigh, “I thought we were here to discuss feelings. Like normal couples do.”

“I can multitask,” she purrs wickedly. “I like you, Jon. I like you…a lot. It’s complicated and it will continue to be but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want us to make this work out.”

His heart pounds in his chest – for more reasons than one. “My feelings for you scare me,” he tells her softly.

She holds his gaze. “Why?”

“Because they make me not want to give a shit about anything else but _you_.” He exhales as her palm reaches his already half-hard cock. “You drive me insane, Daenerys, and it terrifies me how much I love it.”

“Funny you say that because you make me want to care about stuff. I’ve always been selfish but when I’m with you, it’s different.” She pauses to search for the words, “When you speak about your family…it makes me happy. It makes me want to know these people when usually, I’d be pissed if a guy brought up his family after we fucked.”

“Come with me to my brother’s engagement.” It seems so natural, then, to ask her to do this.

She widens her eyes, even stopping the movements of her hand. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” he says. “In Winterfell, we can just be Jon and Dany.”

“You just told me your father would hate me. Now if he finds out I’m one of your _students_ ….”

“I don’t care, we’ll lie when we have to. I want to show you the North. I want you to meet my brother and sisters. Gods, Arya will adore you.” During their late-night, post-sex conversations, Jon has often mentioned Arya. Just like Daenerys, she doesn’t like abiding by the rules either. She’s a troublemaker in the making. He reaches across the table to brush his thumb over her knuckles. “I want you to come with me.”

Daenerys traps her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on it thoughtfully before she nods. “Okay. I will.”

He grins at her, his heart full and light at the same time. She smiles back at him then and it’s bright and full of adoration but there’s also lust and the knowledge of what she’s doing under the table, in public. It makes his blood run hot, a nervous buzz settling in his lower stomach. “You have to stop,” he begs.

Instead, she ups the challenge and unzips his pants, her small hand wrapping around his hard, twitching length. Jon bites down so hard his teeth begin to hurt. He looks down at the menu, focuses on the different sounds and smells around him but _nothing_ can distract him from the glorious feel of her slender fingers pumping his cock, her thumb teasingly rubbing over the weeping head every now and then.

“Tell me when you’re close,” she whispers to him, casually leaning her face against one palm.

He bets nobody in this room can guess someone this angelic-looking could be doing what she’s currently doing to him but he knows and that’s enough. His breathing starts getting more erratic, a bead of sweat racing down his forehead. “Fuck,” he brokenly coughs, “I’m going to cum.”

Quickly, she uses her elbow to push a fork so that it falls with a loud clink. “Oh! Silly me,” she declares loudly, momentarily breaking the contact to bend down. And then she is under the table cover, her lips wrapping around his cock.

Jon chokes on a gasp and covers it up with another string of loud coughs. But Daenerys is merciless, taking him deeper in her mouth, working on his shaft and the head like a pro, not letting him breathe or think clearly. It’s clear that she wants him to finish—in her mouth.

It’s a shame he can’t see her. He knows she must be looking flawless right now with her puffy lips, darkened pupils and hollowed cheeks. He would grab a fistful of her silver hair to urge him deeper down her throat. With that thought, Jon lets himself go, knees and thighs trembling as he finds his release. He tastes the metallic sting of blood when he accidentally bites down, hard, on his tongue to withhold a grunt of pleasure. Daenerys comes out a few seconds later, with that stupid fork in hand.

She uses the napkin to wipe at her mouth and grins at him, while he sits there, still not fully recovered from whatever just happened. “I think we should skip dessert,” she says, “I’m full.”

“Oh, yes,” Jon answers hastily.

He isn’t full yet but he has a much better dessert in mind—one that involves Daenerys, minus that sinful dress plus his mouth on her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't kill me, i'm sorry this took forever and was probably a boring and short chapter. it's just that we've come to the point that this story can go in 2 different ways and i SUCK at making decisions so idk which one i want to write. don't worry, both are happy endings as i promised buuut they're fairly different and your girl can't choose for shit. it'd probably take me forever to post a new chapter if i kept procrastinating so it's better to have this than nothing...right? 
> 
> ALSO, i made a twitter acc just for writing and ao3 stuff so go follow me there (danysaegon) if you want to know about when i'll update my stories and what other stuff im working on or if you just want to say hi i'm really nice i swear. or ask me something ORRR even yell at me to write faster or something. all very valid options. thank you. until the next time!!! x


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BAAACK. 
> 
> i'm sorry this took forever but like i said, i wanted to figure out which path i wanted for the rest of the story and i think i figured it out now. and also october was the worst month ever, to spare you boring details i had exams and i spent all of my days locked in my room studying until i wanted to die. but anyway back to the story, the next chapters should be up pretty quickly since i'm on break. 
> 
> and also thank you for all the support on this fic, it means a lot to me since this originally started out of frustration after season 8 because i just needed to get the fuck away from canon and i didn't think this would get half the attention it did. it was just meant to be a one-shot which spiralled out of control into THIS thing and i'm honestly so glad of the response it received. i'll try to get to all the comments now that i'm free so please leave your thoughts, feedback is a blessing even if the author (or just me) sucks at replying.
> 
> this chapter is highly unedited, pls forgive the errors a very tired me didn't have the time to go through x

“So,” Jon begins, his back leaning against the wooden edge of the table as he stares at the class in front of him, “on this note, I’d like to wish you all happy holidays. Don’t forget to work on your assignments due for the next semester, you can always e-mail me in case of any issues and…yeah, also have some fun but I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that.”

A few chuckles are heard and Daenerys leans forward on her elbows placed on the table, smiling innocently. “You have some fun too, sir,” she calls out teasingly.

Jon’s eyes snap to hers, a flicker of apprehension in them, the look she knew she’d see in his eyes. He made it very clear that their relationship should remain _professional_ on university grounds but she couldn’t help herself. And it’s not like anyone in this class knows he’s taking her on vacation to meet his parents, it’s not like anyone knows the type of fun she’s speaking of involves them very naked.

“Sure,” Jon answers demurely, dark eyes watching her. “What’s your name again?”

She narrows her eyes at him. _Well played._ She could answer with many sexual innuendos but for his sake, and hers, she settles on a nice reply, “Daenerys Targaryen.”

“Ah, right. Well, miss Targaryen, I shall be spending the best holidays of my life,” he tells her and she grins.

He dismisses them soon after and it takes all of Dany’s willpower not to look back at him as she goes out of the class to say something suggestive or to wink at him.

“Daenerys.”

She turns around at the sound of her name being called, her happy, dreamy thoughts shattered at the sight of Loras walking up to her with a little frown on his face. “Hey,” she says. “What’s wrong?”

He sighs. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

“What is?”

“Spending summer vacation with your professor in his hometown,” he enunciates, as if saying it slowly will make her realise it’s not that great of a plan. “You two are barely trying to hide it here!”

“What? Of course, we are, we’re being very careful.” She juts her chin out confidently. “And who else is going to Winterfell for the holidays? This place is a frozen wasteland. It’ll just be the two of us and his family.”

“Careful?” Loras repeats. “What was _that_ in class just now?”

“It was an innocent question.”

He raises an eyebrow at her, his scepticism irritating her. “Look, I appreciate you being protective but trust me, everything will be fine,” she says, shrugging nonchalantly. “And admit it, you’re just _kindaaaa_ jealous I’m not spending summer vacation with you.”

At last, his face breaks out in a grin as he rolls his eyes. “Maybe,” he mutters.

“Now’s the time to get a boyfriend who’s not a married old man,” she jests.

Loras laughs, throwing his arm around her shoulders. She’s glad he’s taken her relationship with Jon well because she doesn’t know what she’d do if he was against it. The only problem now is how to tell Jon that she’s already broke their secret to someone, even if that someone is the person she trusts the most in the world.

△▼

Winterfell is different.

She was expecting a cold, grey place without anything nice to look at but turns out, Jon grew up somewhere quite beautiful. It’s definitely cold, though, much colder than what she’d anticipated. But the green trees are covered in snow and her eyes are glued to the mountains during their car trip from the airport to Jon’s house, staring in amazement at the pleasant scenery, the dove-white hills and mountains soaring up into the sky until their tips are not even visible.

A sudden movement catches her attention. A chute of snow detaching itself and trundling down one of the mountains. Daenerys gasps. It slides over the knotted edge and then goes crashing into the chasm below.

“Did you see that?” she asks, bubbling with excitement.

Jon laughs. “Yes, Dany. You’d be surprised by how many snowstorms there are around here. That’s not even half as scary as what usually happens.”

“That’s _so_ cool,” she states. “I love snow.”

He chuckles, his free hand coming to rest on her thigh, giving her a small squeeze which, embarrassingly enough, brings a dull throb between her legs. “I bet you do.” His voice is honey-smooth and full of suggestiveness and she just _needs_ this car to stop already.

“So, a few things about my dad—”

“I know, Jon. He’s uptight and grumpy and will probably be rude,” she lists all of the things he’s been ‘preparing’ her for during their flight.

Jon exhales. “You think I’m exaggerating but you’ll find out soon enough that I’m not kidding. He’s not a very pleasant guy, Daenerys.”

“He’s your father, he can’t be that bad.”

“You just haven’t met him yet.”

“Plus you’re grumpy too.”

He scoffs, “I’m not.”

Even now he is frowning and pouting like an adorable kid. Daenerys shakes her head in amusement. “I’ll be on my best behaviour,” she promises and clears her throat. “Is this road used by many people?”

“Uh, no. It’s just a shortcut and—”

“Stop the car,” she interrupts him hastily.

“What? Why?”

“Because I think we should fuck.”

She can only see his side profile but can tell the exact moment his eyes have grown big in surprise, lips parting, cheeks reddening. “Dany….” His tone holds a warning in it but it’s weak compared to the sensation of his fingers on her covered thigh, the heat from his palm bleeding into her cold skin.

“I’m cold,” she murmurs, leaning over to kiss his bearded cheek, revelling in his quick intake of breath. “And I want you.”

He pulls over after that, on the side of the lonely road with only the mountains looking over them. Daenerys unbuckles her seatbelt and Jon wraps his arms around her waist, managing to bring her over on his lap. She smiles down at him.

“Your nose is all red,” he teases her and kisses the tip of her nose, humming. He’s so gentle with her sometimes that it hurts. It’s not her thing, she’s never had someone look at her with as much adoration and _care_ as he does. It fucking terrifies her how much she loves it, and how she has no idea what she’ll do without it. “You really _are_ cold.”

“I am,” she says, nuzzling his cheek, inhaling his familiar scent and letting her body sack down against his own. She loves the way he holds her and how safe she feels in his arms, dare she say, she feels at _home_. She pushes the complicated feelings to the back of her head, where they are safe and locked away to be examined later. Now’s not the time to turn sappy and start admitting all that he makes her feel, not when she can feel the bulge in his pants under her. “Do you have an idea how to fix this?” she asks, pressing her forehead against his, grinding down on him teasingly.

Jon’s hands slide up and down her back, drawing her closer until their bodies are flush against each other. “I have a few ideas,” he whispers, kissing her once, his voice light and playful but punctuated with desire, “to keep my Queen warm.”

Her laugh, bright and warm as a contrast to the snow falling outside, turns into a moan when he begins kissing her neck, tugging at her clothes and slipping inside of her.

Soon enough, and true to his words, the temperature of the car rises.

△▼

When Jon had informed his father, Ned, that he would bring a girl along to Robb’s engagement, the old man had been ecstatic. He kept asking about her but Jon refused to answer any questions because whatever he’d say would be a lie. Daenerys is nothing like the kind of woman Ned would’ve wanted him to date so standing at his doorstep now, Dany’s hand in his, Jon has no idea what his father’s reaction will be.

Turns out, it’s a mix of emotions. He opens the door with a smile on his face and for a moment, Jon forgets about everything else because this is his father, after all, and he’s missed him. Age has gotten to Ned, painted his beard grey, his forehead creased with worry lines.

He engulfs Jon in a hug and the latter closes his eyes, enjoying the warmth, remembering what it feels like to be home.

“I’ve missed you,” Jon tells him truthfully.

Ned chuckles. “So have I. You haven’t grown an inch.”

Jon rolls his eyes in response. When his father’s eyes land on Daenerys, Jon doesn’t miss the quick scan he does over her from head to toe. He can only hope Ned will save the judgmental comments for himself. Daenerys looks confident enough, extending her arm for a handshake with a bright smile plastered on her face. Looking at her now, no one would guess that she was just moaning his name in his car less than thirty minutes ago. The thought causes Jon’s lips to twitch. “Nice to meet you, sir,” Dany says, her voice sweet, “Jon has told me a lot about you.”

“Ah, well, can’t say the same about you,” replies Ned. “It came totally out of the blue when he told me he was inviting you over to Robb’s engagement party.”

Daenerys’ smile begins to diminish, obviously noting the not-so-friendly tone of Jon’s father’s voice. “Well, I was surprised he asked as well since we only just started dating,” she replies casually, “But I’m glad he did. I was dying to meet his family, I know you guys will be wonderful.”

Jon is proud of Daenerys’ ability to look past Ned’s attempt to pester her, instead choosing to answer with even more kindness than before. Ned nods, knowing he doesn’t have anything else to say and invites her to go in.

He looks back at Jon and lifts an eyebrow.

His son sighs. “What is it?” Jon asks, already annoyed by his behaviour with Dany, who’s just arrived and has been nothing but pleasant.

“She’s young,” he comments plainly.

Jon looks away. “Am I supposed to feel old?”

“You know what I mean.”

“Dad, I thought you wanted me to bring a date.” He doesn’t want to fight with his dad, quite the contrary, but he also wants Daenerys to feel welcome here. He invited her. He promised her they could be a normal couple in Winterfell, do things lovers do without the fear of being found. Daenerys deserves a chance from his family, especially Ned, and Jon wants to make sure she gets it. “Daenerys is great. I really like her.”

Ned doesn’t promise he’ll make an effort with her but his eyes grow soft at his son’s earnest tone and he offers a simple but comprehensive nod. “Welcome back home, Jon,” he says, stepping aside so Jon can enter.

To his surprise, the feeling of warmth and nostalgia he was expecting doesn’t hit him. He walks in, after months of being gone and missing this place, but he doesn’t feel half the relief and happiness he thought he would.

Jon wonders if it was home that he’d missed or simply the feeling of belonging. And if that’s the case, then why does he no longer feel it?

“We changed things up a bit,” Ned explains, pointing at the sofa. “Got rid of that old thing you and Robb ruined.”

Jon smiles at the memory of the old, brown couch that he and Robb had completely demolished when they were young, the poor thing always falling victim to their wild games. Now it’s been replaced by a much more beautiful and sophisticated white sofa upon which Daenerys has sat, smiling warmly at him. The kind of smile that makes him melt for her. “Your house is beautiful,” she tells Ned.

“I try,” the old man replies.

Dany glances at Jon helplessly and he can only frown in answer. He can tell she’s trying her best to please his father but Ned’s curt and cold replies are not helping build a relationship.

“You two must be tired,” Jon’s father comments before Jon can dwell on the matter, “Let me show you your rooms.”

The plural form of the word makes Jon frown deeper. As he follows Ned, carrying his and Dany’s suitcases, he says, “Well, um, she can sleep in my room.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Ned says with a huff, “Your room only has one bed.”

Daenerys raises a brow at Jon, a silent way of asking _‘and that’s a problem because…?_ ’ But she doesn’t know Ned’s principles and values well enough yet. Jon is certain that his father believes he is waiting until marriage to touch a girl. For his sake, Jon will allow him to live with that belief. “You’re right, Dany can have the guestroom. It’s better than mine anyway.”

Ned nods, appeased. “You two get ready, dinner will be served shortly.”

When he departs, Daenerys turns to Jon, a sad glint in her eyes. “Why can’t we be in the same room?” she asks in a whisper.

Jon sighs. “I told you I wasn’t joking when I said my father’s kind of a strict asshole,” he mumbles.

Daenerys pouts but doesn’t say anything. He thought she’d argue because this is Dany and if stubborn isn’t her middle name then he doesn’t know what is, but instead, she seems understanding. Upset but comprehensive. He likes that about her, her willingness to make an effort for him—for _them_. It makes their relationship feel real. Which reminds him that he needs to tell her about his feelings for her, how badly he wants to believe that they’re in for something serious, something beyond fucking in his car or in his apartment, as great as those experiences were.

“Hey,” he says gently, taking a step forward and cradling her face in his hands. She is so tiny in his arms, it makes him wish they were alone so he could have her wrapped around him like he’s grown so used to. “I’m glad you’re making an effort.”

“I told you when I’m with you, I’m different,” she speaks softly, smile twinkling. “I want this to work out.”

Jon nods, and as a professor, you’d think he’d be better at expressing what he feels for her but there’s just so much and he’s not sure she’s ready to hear it all yet. _Baby steps it is_. “I want this to work out too,” he settles for and begins to lean in for a kiss.

Just as his lips brush hers, Ned’s voice blooms. “Jon, can you help me with dinner?”

Daenerys shuts her eyes in annoyance and he chuckles at her reaction, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead instead. “Sorry,” he says in a whisper.

“We’ll finish this later,” she says, a slight smirk on her face, but he doubts they’ll finish anything with Ned around.

△▼

“Daenerys, tell me about what you do.”

Daenerys, occupied with serving herself a bowl of salad, nonchalantly replies to Ned’s question with, “I’m a student.”

She only realises her fatal mistake when Jon coughs – loudly – and it sounds almost like he’s choking. She turns her head to him with concern, afraid he is actually choking on the food but he’s only staring at her wide-eyed, a silent message being conveyed in his deep grey eyes. And _then_ she understands. “Counsellor,” she adds, quick and sharp. “I’m a student…counsellor at the university.”

Ned doesn’t seem to pay much attention to her slip, cutting through the steak attentively as he hums. “That’s a job,” he comments plainly, his voice as judgemental as it was when she first stepped through that door. Jon was right, this man is determined to make her life a living hell. “But at the university? I didn’t know there were student counsellors at universities.”

“Did I say university?” she asks, chuckling, “I meant at the school which is…near the university where Jon works.”

Jon closes his eyes briefly and even Daenerys resists the urge to cringe at how bad her lie is holding up. Out of all the jobs in the world – and it’s not like they didn’t rehearse this, Jon listed a lot of occupations she could easily lie about – she had to land on student counsellor. “I’m pretty sure you said university,” Ned says, now his voice sounding a tad bit suspicious.

When he lifts his head to glance at Daenerys, Jon butts in, “She means we met at the university when she came there for an internship. Isn’t that right, Dany?”

“Yes. Jon and I clicked right away,” she says.

_Actually, we didn’t but hey, we fucked in his car. That’s still a pretty normal start to a relationship, right?_

“That’s nice. What’s your job like, Daenerys?” Ned asks.

The silver-haired girl chews on her bottom lip. She can’t believe she is stuck in this position, having to lie about a job position she knows absolutely nothing about. “It’s great. I love working with the kids,” she says, sounding so unconvincing to her ears that her leg begins to twitch anxiously under the table.

“Jon has always had a passion for teaching as well.” Ned smiles at his son. “At first, I was against the idea of him leaving Winterfell. We’ve all studied here itself. It’s always been our tradition, our family doesn’t usually fare well in the South. It broke my heart when he insisted on leaving.”

Jon sighs softly. “Dad.” His voice isn’t full of anger but there is a twinge of annoyance in it as if that’s a conversation they have often and judging by how Ned speaks, Daenerys guesses it’s the case.

“She’s your girlfriend, she should know,” Ned says, with an amicable smile that does nothing to hide the heat in his eyes, “I was angry Jon was going against my wishes. After all, that’s not how I raised my kids. But then I understood. It took time, of course, and a lot of arguments but I understood that he wanted to spread his own wings, not have me teach him how to fly.” Jon’s father shrugs. “That’s fine. He’s successful today. That’s all that matters.”

Daenerys smiles nervously. “Jon is great at what he does, you have every reason to be proud of him,” she says, and it’s not part of the façade. She actually means every single word. “But may I ask, what do you mean by your family doesn’t fare well in the South?” Her tone is light and playful.

But Ned answers with a rather dark response, “Every person who goes away from Winterfell fails in our family.”

“That’s not true,” Jon huffs. “It was just, what, one uncle?”

“Two, actually. Benjen—”

“That was simply a very unfortunate accident.”

“His uncle Benjen fell in love with a Southern woman who robbed him and left him,” Ned presses, eager to tell Daenerys about the unfortunate tale. “And there are other family members who’ve experienced the same things in the South. Winterfell is our home, I just feel like we’re better here.”

Jon runs a hand over his face. “You sound like we’re in a cult here,” he mutters.

Daenerys bites down on her tongue to stop herself from laughing. “I get where your father’s coming from,” she says gently, causing Jon to quirk an eyebrow at her, but he knows she’s just playing along to not offend the old man. She smiles at Jon, covering his hand with hers. “He’s simply looking out for you.”

“Thank you,” Ned says, giving Daenerys an appreciative look, “That’s all I do. Look out after my children.”

Jon clears his throat. “Anyway, where’s Arya?”

“She went to stay at Sansa’s tonight. But don’t worry, she’ll be here first thing in the morning for you.”

“I’ve missed her so much,” Jon reflects, a genuinely sad smile on his face.

Daenerys knows how much he loves his sister – all of his siblings, really, but especially the little girl whose hair he loves to muss up, something he told her himself. Just for that reason, she grows nervous, her heart fluttering in her chest. She wants them to like her. Even Ned. She wants to win over their hearts, like Jon has won hers.

“It’s a big day tomorrow with the engagement and everything,” Ned says. “I think we should retire for the night.”

“The food was great, by the way, Mr Snow,” Daenerys says as she helps him with the dishes.

He gives her a brief smile but doesn’t open any path for more conversation. She doesn’t let herself get discouraged, after all, she’s only been here for a few hours. And Jon’s smile is warm, so warm that it melts all the ice around her heart, leaving her hopeful that his family will like her, too.

△▼

That night, Jon doesn’t come to her.

It frustrates and saddens her but she understands. Ned is like a wolf, attentive and vigilant, and surely them fucking like they usually do is not the best way to spend the first night at your boyfriend’s overprotective and old-school father’s house.

Jon kisses her goodnight and she carries the sweetness of his lips to her own room, the guestroom. She tells herself that she can go one night without Jon, that it’s not the end of the world not to be wrapped up in his arms for the span of a few hours. But as she lies on the bed, she finds herself staring idly at the ceiling, her own quiet intake and outtake of breaths the only sound in the room, the mattress feeling cold and so very big.

She can’t sleep.

She tries to turn off her thoughts but they all insistently drift back to Jon’s family, and to what she’ll have to do to please them. She tries to squeeze her eyes shut and think of Jon, but that only brings forward thoughts of his hands and mouth on her; from her neck to her breasts and—great, now she’s getting horny.

Daenerys groans, grabbing the pillow from underneath her head and slamming it on her face.

When Jon calls her, it takes all of her willpower not to beg him to come sleep with her because she feels alone and _cold._ She still pouts, picking up with an annoyed sigh, “This bed is ten times bigger than me.”

Jon’s laugh warms her up right away. “You’re just way too used to my bed,” he teases.

She grins, knowing it’s true. His apartment feels more like home than anywhere else, but she won’t admit that. Yet. “Can’t sleep either?” she asks softly. “I thought you were dying to be back here, you always said King’s Landing never truly felt like home.”

“I know,” he sighs, “yet I can’t sleep.”

She can’t help but hope, selfishly, that it’s because she isn’t next to him. “Neither can I,” she mumbles.

There’s a long pause, during which she just enjoys knowing he’s on the other line – and just a room away from her, before he quietly asks, “what are you wearing?”

The query surprises her. _Thrills_ her. She is usually the one initiating all the dirty stuff with Jon, she’s always the one making a suggestive comment or move, and he’ll be the one blushing, taken aback by her bluntness. The fact that Jon is asking her something of this nature in his childhood home, with his father just around the corner, makes Daenerys’ blood pump faster in her veins. “Mhm, nothing but a bathrobe,” she says gently, truthfully.

“The pink or blue one?”

“Pink.”

“My favourite.” His voice has dropped to a whisper.

“I know,” she informs him, biting down on her lip. “It’s also open in the middle, just the way you like it.”

“Then no wonder you’re cold, woman.”

She laughs. “Too bad I don’t have you keeping me warm,” she murmurs.

“Dany,” he breathes out into the phone and the low timbre of his voice makes her shudder – she can almost feel him. “I want you so bad right now.”

“Do you?” she asks teasingly. “What do you want, Jon? Me sprawled out on the bed for you, wearing nothing but this silk robe which you know is so easy to take off?”

“Yes, yes. I _know_. And it’s pure torture.”

“I want you, too. I miss your mouth on me. I miss the way you kiss my neck and the way your hands feel on my body. Rough and warm,” she sighs at the thought, a dull ache beginning to form between her legs.

She hears shuffling on the other side, can almost imagine him taking off his pants. “Tell me more,” he demands.

“I miss…your mouth on my breasts. Gods, you sure do love having your mouth there, don’t you?”

“Hmm, you know I do. I love how sensitive your nipples get for me.”

“Only you,” she whimpers, the tips of her rosy nipples tingling at the vivid memory of his lips wrapped around them – tugging, biting, licking. “You know what my favourite thing is, though?”

“My mouth on your sweet cunt?”

She laughs, a bit breathless, at his crass words. She definitely rubbed off on him. “That is absolutely correct. Alright, my second favourite thing is when you trace my tattoo with your fingers…and lips. You love those dragons, don’t you?”

“I never thought myself as a man who likes tattoos but, gods, Daenerys, you’ve no idea how hot you look with these.”

She moans, her fingertips pushing her thin robe aside, her free hand groping at her breast. It’s not good enough.

“What are you doin’, Dany?” he gruffly asks.

“Touching myself,” she breathes out. “But it’s not good enough. It’s not you.”

“Are you wet?”

“I don’t know.”

“Check for me, love,” he growls out. “I want you to slide your fingers down to your pussy and tell me what you feel.”

Daenerys gasps when she does as she’s told. “I’m so wet,” she whines, her index finger tracing over her sensitive clit in small circles, just the way Jon does it when he wants her to cum, “I wish you could feel me, baby.”

“I wish I could too. I wish I could taste you. Fuck, I know you’d taste so good right now,” he groans.

She closes her eyes, playing with herself with deft fingers. “Yes, yes. Jon, tell me more. Tell me what to do.”

"Reach inside a little bit and bring the dampness up to your clit.”

“ _Fuck_.”

“I’m so hard right now,” Jon breathes out shakily.

She licks her lips, picturing his cock – swollen and big for her, the tip leaking with precum. Her mouth waters, fingers working more quickly. “I have a finger inside now,” she informs him as she easily slips her middle finger in her wet channel.

“Yeah? Are you tight and hot like you always are for me?”

Her thighs begin to shake a little. “Yes, yes, _yes_.”

“Be quiet, Daenerys. You don’t want my father hearing you now, do you?”

She chuckles. “Your father would be horrified if he knew about us. The truth, I mean.”

He groans. “Definitely. He would be appalled if he knew that the day I saw you walk in my class, I wanted nothing more but to bend you over the desk and fuck you.”

She mewls. “Fuck, _fuck_ , I’m so close, Jon.”

“I’ve always wanted you, Dany. And you know it. Seeing you sit in my class in your pretty little dresses, tight little skirts…it always drove me mad. I never knew I could want someone as much as I wanted you,” he tells her, urging her on, taking her to new heights with just the sound of his voice and the sweet nothings he’s whispering into her ear, “And right now, I want nothing more than to fuck you. _Hard._ Just the way you like it. Are you there, baby?”

“ _Yesss_.”

“That’s good. Cum for me. Cum on your fingers like you would around my cock or in my mouth, love.”

His words, the tone of his voice and the quickness of her fingers bring her over the edge, her body going taut as she draws out her orgasm, fingers still working at her clit as her breathing goes from erratic to somewhat of a calmer pattern.

“Think you’ll be able to sleep just fine now,” he tells her softly.

She grins, her body still coming down from the high he just helped induced onto her. “Thank you for that,” she mumbles. “Goodnight, Jon, l—” she cuts herself off, suddenly realising that she was about to ever-so-casually say ‘love you’ at the end of this sentence. Like it’s something they always do.

Jon catches up on her misstep. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing. I said goodnight Jon,” she rushes to explain.

“Did you say something after that?”

“No,” she chortles with nervousness, “Get your ears checked, Mr Snow.”

“I apologise, Miss Targaryen,” he drawls, “all that moaning and ‘yes, Jon’ you’ve been doing must’ve messed with my eardrums.”

She blushes, smiling to herself. “Shut up, you know you love it.”

“I do,” he says, sounding content. “Night, Dany.”

Before she can dwell on why she almost told Jon that she loves him, whether it was a mistake or something she truly feels without even realising it, her phone begins ringing again.

This time, it’s her father.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next time, drama ensues.


End file.
